


In the End

by Annie_Walker



Series: Inevitable Series [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Dark Harley Keener, Do not copy on another site, Evil Tony Stark, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Infinity Gauntlet, Infinity Gems, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Redemption, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Уточнять у автора
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Walker/pseuds/Annie_Walker
Summary: Three years ago, the world changed. Ashes spread across the globe and people panicked, not certain what was happening or what to do. They called for the Avengers to help, but they never answered the call.Tony Stark did.Slowly, the world was rebuilt under Stark's guidance. People came to terms with the new world, accepting it as the new normal. Harley Keener had worked hard to find his place in this new world order, and is happy where he stands. However, Harley's new life is threatened when someone from the dead returns.Sequel to INEVITABLE





	1. Them

**Author's Note:**

> Best to read the first story, INEVITABLE, to understand what is happening in the sequel.

Harley Keener remembered.

Everyone did. It was strange and bizarre and frightening.

But it wasn't happening to them. It was happening to  _them_.

All those devils on Earth. All those plagues and villains who roamed the globe vanished out of existence. Sprinkled into ash. The world fell in rejoice... and in turmoil.

Because it wasn't just the terrorists, the Neo-Nazis and the mafia who vanished.

It was half of the American government. It was a good chunk of the United Nations. It was generals and commanders of different armies. It was CEOs and CFOs and Presidents of companies around the world. It was scientists and researchers. It was journalists and media personalities. It was bankers and stock traders. Police officers. Lawyers. Judges. DMV employees.

People cried for help, begging the Avengers to come and solve this sudden atrocity. Surviving news outlets dubbed it the rapture, calling for Earth’s protectors to save the day. The Avengers never responded. 

Tony Stark did. 

The world fell apart and Iron Man stepped up to the plate to save it from collapse. He put the world back into order in lickety-split, starting with the establishment of the 50-State Initiative teams in America. The teams consisted of fully trained and equipped enhanced individuals with permission to engage and police any and all threats. The successful runs in America and positive public support got them to set up teams in different countries as well.

Stark led the world out of the horror and craziness. He glued the world back in order. The world was fixed. The world was safe. World peace at last, some claimed. 

Others thought differently. 

And that was why Harley hunkered down at a wobbling desk, balancing himself on a broken chair as he stared at two ancient monitor screens. He was tracking a signal through a series of messy codes. 

“Anything yet?”

Harley didn't even blink up. "Nope."

An agitated huff came from above. "Are you sure this will work?"

Now, Harley swung around to face his accuser. "O-Kay... you know, patience is a highly valuable trait these days," he said. "Cultivate it."

Michelle Jones rolled her eyes as she huffed. Her messy, coarse curls were bundled into an untidy bun and her unimpressed expression never changed. She always looked disappointed by the world. And maybe she had a good reason for it.

“Sorry that I placed your skills on a high pedestal," she quipped. "Thought you were as brilliant as Ned.”

“No one is as brilliant as Ned.”

"Aww... thanks guys," came Ned Leed's voice as he popped his head over Harley's monitors. His parted hair style slightly over-gelled. His sharp, brown eyes gleaming at the compliments. Even though Ned was a college student, studying computer science at Columbia, Harley kept mistaking him as a middle school student.

Harley swiveled in his broken chair. "Besides, it's not that it's not working, it's that things like this take time," he explained to Michelle. "Stark has the best technology and; therefore, the best way to beat his tech is to go old school."

"Hence the eighties retro," Ned piped up.

Harley gave him a respective nod. "Exactly," he said. "And like all eighties and nineties kids learned... patience is a virtue."

Michelle just looked at the devices in scorn. "Well, tell that to our former comrades," she remarked. "They lost all their time."

Harley sighed. He remembered coming down to headquarters to learn another Resistance cell was wiped out. SHIELD and the New York's Iron Fist caught them, and many friends and colleagues were gone. Prison or death, no one knew. They mourned for a moment, but got back to work. That was life. People coming and going. They couldn't stop. Not for the dead and not for the living. 

They were the last resistance cell in New York. Hope rested on them. 

At least, that was what Michelle said in her speech to them the morning after the defeat of the Brooklyn Resistance. 

“We get it, Michelle," Harley said, wiping a hand down his face to hide his exhaustion over the discussion. "But, seriously, this is our best bet. Stark is an uber genius. He can hack into any system he wants, except... old school Macs with floppy disks.” He raised a retro, orange-colored floppy disk. “May not get things instantly, but if we want to remain undetected, this is what we have to use.”

“Fine," Michelle huffed, arms crossed over her chest. "Let me know if you get anything.”

“Will do, boss lady," Harley snapped a salute to her. Michelle rolled her eyes and marched away from the computer herd. He swiveled back to the monitors. "Ned?”

“Yeah, Har?”

“Remind me to purchase a pair of headphones. That way I can tune nonsense out.”

Ned forced a chuckle at the joke, but ducked his head back behind his monitor to keep working. It's what they all do during the night. They hid underground, in the middle of Queens, an abandoned church to be exact, to work on dismantling Stark's regime. Michelle led the team, founded the group with Ned Leeds and others. Some moved on, losing hope or disinterested in their fight. Acceptance was what Michelle called it. Those who reached that point stopped believing they could change the world and decided to simply live with what they were given. Michelle refused to live in such a manner and encouraged others to not accept the tyranny that posed as a savior in these dark times. 

“Darkness brings out the monsters," Michelle said to them during a team "pick-me-up" speech. "We need to fight those monsters.”

Harley believed their resistance's success was in part due to Michelle's leadership and cunning mind. Without her, the resistance would have collapsed long before Brooklyn's or even Manhattan's cells. She was good at scouting talent, finding the right people for different jobs. Ned was her right-hand man. He was able to hack into high profile buildings and agencies, to locate different sources and intercept communications to help plan their rebuttals against Stark. 

Harley helped too. He was Ned's right-hand man, assisting in tracking information, computing and designing their own algorithms to insert into different computing systems to keep them informed of any new developments. Most of the bugs they planted became compromised, but those that held out turned beneficial, making it easy for them to hit their targets hard.

A ping interrupted Harley's thoughts, drawing his attention back to the screen. He typed away, bringing up the alert and studying it for a moment.

"Hey, Michelle!" he called over his shoulder. 

Michelle was at his side. "Got it?"

Harley nodded. "Yeah, here," he leaned away from the screen to show her the black and neon green grid. "Location is... Stamford, Connecticut."

Michelle peered at the screen, her eyes scrutinizing the results. She hummed, rolling her lips while Ned wheeled over to check it out. 

“Connecticut?" Ned said, befuddled by the results. "Why there?”

Harley shrugged. "How should I know?"

“But... Stark's headquarters are in New York.”

“Excellent point.”

“But it's Connecticut!”

“Excellent observation.”

“Shut it, Keener," Michelle ordered as she dropped her chin in her palm, contemplating. "It's gotta be it.”

“Okay, so... what exactly is _it_?" Harley questioned and wasn't that the main question? What was the ultimate plan? "I mean, what exactly are we even looking at? It looks like an abandoned piece of property. Nothing, really. What are we supposed to do with that? Hack nothing?”

“It's not nothing," Michelle stated, certain. "It's called the Negative Zone or something like that.”

Harley and Ned shared an odd look with one another. "Negative Zone?" Harley repeated, a smile creeping up on his face as if it was a prank. "Seriously?"

“It's what I was told.”

“By whom? A comic artist?”

Michelle's eyes narrowed. "Someone reliable," she curtly replied.

Ned cocked his head to the side. "What is it? This... 'Negative Zone'?" he asked, curious, and their small band of misfits leaned in to hear. "Is it like an area where they contain all the outwardly relics? Like Thor’s hammer?"

“Why would they have Thor’s hammer?” Harley questioned. “Wouldn’t it be with Thor? In whatever that new place they call home? New Asgard?”

“Well, I don’t know. Negative Zone sounds like something dangerous.”

“Sounds like a tall-tale.”

“It’s our big break,” Michelle interrupted the duo with a loud sigh, but the corners of her lips tugged into a little smile. “It's what we need to dismantle Stark's power."

Silence. Eyes all looking at each other, hoping they weren't the only ones lost by Michelle's ramblings.

Harley cleared his throat. "O-kay... what exactly  _is_  this big break? What is the Negative Zone?"

Michelle shrugged. "Don't know for sure, but... it's big. That's what I was told. Apparently, it's something Stark had for a long time."

Everyone all took another glance around the room, hoping the other understood more than the next person. Unfortunately, they all seemed out of the loop. Harley rolled his eyes. Not that he didn't believe in Michelle, but her outside sources were sketchy and mysterious. These sources popped up out of nowhere and unknown to everyone, but her. Left hesitation and doubt among the rest of the resistance to trust the intelligence, but Michelle did. She always believed in everything she found, even if it was nothing more than a grain of salt, like this ‘Negative Zone’. Something like that would have been whispered around town and the fact no one else ever heard of it until now made it feel more like they were chasing tail. A fake out or scam, but Harley kept his silence, waiting on Michelle to say more.

Michelle looked at her watch. "Pack up everyone," she ordered. "See you until next time."

Everyone started to power down, unplugging every gadget, stuffing paper files into brown envelope wallets and roping them off before sliding them into their hidden, locked compartments. Harley and Ned busied themselves, working on saving their information and evidence before dismantling their work station. It was a hassle and a nuisance, but Michelle's orders. If they want to avoid getting busted, they needed to keep anything electrical dead while away. No need to hand over the evidence so easily with their backs turn. 

Harley thought it was overkill, but obliged to Michelle's orders. Do as the boss says.

Another one of Michelle's fond strategies was to depart from headquarters in a staggered pattern. No mass departure. Harley and Ned waited for their turn before walking out under the night's inky sky to catch the subway. They always paired up, walking together to the nearest subway station as a part of their disguise. Harley was three years older than Ned Leeds, but they both looked like college students with their overstuffed backpacks and youthful looks. Except, only Ned was an actual college student. Harley worked at Spectrum as a field technician, which he had back-to-back appointments starting tomorrow at eight in the morning. Need to do everything to pay the rent and bills.

They got to the subway platform, finding out they had a long seven minute wait for their train to arrive. They took to the wooden bench and sat down. 

“I gotta finish my term paper," Ned moaned, slugging his backpack off and onto his lap. "I got an extension on it, but I have five more pages to go.”

“Oh yeah?”

“My fault really. I knew about it, but kept putting it off," Ned confessed, shaking his head guiltily. "It's just... college almost seems utterly pointless with everything happening. With how the world is run nowadays.”

Harley nudged his head in slight agreement. "The world may be heading to hell, Neddy, but it's still best you get a degree," he advised. "Gotta earn a living. Don't wanna be like me, am I right?"

“You're not doing so bad. You have a job.”

Harley snorted. "As a cable guy. Not exactly living the dream,” he grunted. “But you're hellua a lot smarter than me. You could actually be a CEO of your own computer company one day."

“You think so?”

“Sure. As long as you graduate first.”

“I know," Ned sighed, shoulders dropping. He went silent for a minute before a sparkle flashed in his eyes. "Hey? What are you doing this weekend? I could use a hand in calibrating the—”

“I'm joining my mom and sister in upstate New York," Harley answered. "See how she's enjoying her new school and everything. Listen to my mom say how I'm wasting my life away. All good things.”

"I don't think you're wasting your life away," Ned said, trying to be supportive.

Harley smirked a little. "Oh, I know," he said. "My mom has always been hard on me because of my dad. It's just how it is. I tune her out most of the time. Same old lecture. Kind of have it memorized at this point."

The subway came and they boarded. Ned left after two stops and Harley one stop later. He hoisted his backpack over his shoulder as he walked down the relatively quiet streets of Forest Hills. City life was quite different from his childhood home in the country of Tennessee. Less green, less space and more concrete than he ever seen in his life. Buildings were smashed together, squeezed into every crook and cranny to make way for more buildings. Harley missed the fresh air, but New York—Queens—provided opportunities that he never received in Tennessee.

Of course, the same could be returned. Tennessee never smelled as strongly as New York. He remembered the aroma of fresh grass, the smell of rain and blooming flowers; not the reek of garbage and rat droppings. The noise level was far quieter too. Harley struggled to sleep during his first few weeks living in his cramped apartment. And that was another thing. Space! God, he missed his bigger bedroom.

Then again, he couldn’t walk into a deli store in Tennessee and order a sandwich at this time of hour. Only in New York were places open all day and night to provide citizens with whatever they desire.

One of those places happened to be Harley’s corner deli. Harley greeted Mr. Delmar as he entered, waiting in line to order his food. Mr. Delmar busied behind the counter, making a sandwich for the person ahead of Harley. The person’s disheveled appearance contrasted Mr. Delmar’s clean bodega, but the owner didn’t seem to mind. Harley, however, had to take a large step back from the person. The guy reeked of death.

Mr. Delmar handed the smelly customer the wrapped sandwich. "Smashed like you want it," the owner said.

Harley greatly appreciated it when the guy quickly paid and left. He didn't know how long he could keep holding his breath.

Mr. Delmar looked to Harley. "Back again?" he teased a smile at him. "I said you would be hooked. Always coming at odd hours to order my famous sandwiches. Soon, you will sell your own soul to me, eh?"

“Probably," Harley bantered along. "You already made me an addict. Stealing all my money away. Soon, I’ll have to move-in here. Hey! Maybe I could meet this daughter of yours?”

“Don't get cute," Mr. Delmar scolded. "What will it be?”

Harley ordered a roast beef sandwich and a pack of Debbie snack cakes before he bundled them in a bag to get back to his apartment. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Delmar!"

Mr. Delmar waved back and helped another late-night customer. Harley walked a few more blocks before he arrived at his apartment building. He hiked up the three flight of stairs, regretting each time that he picked a walk-up apartment rather than an apartment with an elevator. Unfortunately, elevators in New York would make his rental fee double, so he grudgingly took the stairs and cursed his luck underneath his breath. 

Calves tensed from the constant climb, Harley was thankful to reach his floor and pulled out his keys to fall into his tiny apartment. In his eagerness, the keys jumbled with his fingers and fell right at the door.

"Damn it," he cursed, hating his luck.

He squatted down to pick up his fallen keys and... he froze.

A few inches away from his keys was a tiny, wood wedge that he normally inserted between his door and threshold. His security wedge as he liked to call it. Kept him informed if anyone broke into his apartment. And someone did if it was laying on the floor next to his keys.

Harley swiped up his keys, erecting to full height as he assessed the situation. His ears picked up no noise, but that didn't mean anything. Traps and surprise attacks don't call for noise. Keys gripped into a make-shift weapon, he brought up his old, batty watch, tapping the sides twice until a blue screen popped up—a hologram sprouting information. 

Lowering his head, Harley whispered into the hologram. "Secure 401."

The hologram flickered. A report shuffled through and Harley scanned the readings. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, relaxed as he turned his watch off and stabbed his keys into the lock. With a twist, he jerked the door open. "Could've told me you were coming."

Sitting in his lounge chair was no other than Robert Reynolds, his superior officer. 

Reynolds’ blonde hair gleamed like gold underneath the lamp and blue eyes humored over Harley's exasperation. He got up from the chair, his head nearly reaching the low ceiling. The man looked restricted standing in Harley’s apartment. A big man in a tiny apartment. Harley swiftly closed and locked the door behind him.

“How did it go?” inquired Reynolds once the apartment was secured and privacy attained. “Did it work?”

Harley gave a heavy, agitated sigh. “I managed to manipulate the tracking to ping onto Stamford rather than the Baxter Building. So... you're welcome." He moved across his apartment toward the kitchen and dumped his late-night dinner on the counter. "Did you guys ever find out who blabbed about the Hole?"

Reynolds followed Harley to the kitchen, leaning up against the archway. "A guilty conscious," he answered. "Confessed it to Robertson earlier this week."

Robbie Robertson. One of the surviving journalists of the sudden rapture. Lately, he’s been a thorn to their side, always looking at Stark’s philanthropic gestures like it was some kind of soul-binding, devil deal.

"That means Robertson is Jones's source," Harley deduced.

“We took care of that," Reynolds informed him. "Robertson won't be a problem anymore.”

Harley paused in unwrapping of his sandwich. "You killed him?"

"Nah—just ruined his reputation," Reynolds responded. "Got witnesses and others to publish accusations of Robertson's wrongdoings and lies throughout his career. So, anything he says about the Negative Zone will simply fall on deaf ears and his boss won't publish anything he writes in regards to it.

“And as for other guy," Reynolds went to Harley's fridge and pulled out his Britta filter and poured a glass for himself. "He's exactly there.”

There as in the Hole. Right where he belonged for his traitorous actions.

“Good," Harley said, stuffing his mouth with meat, cheese and bread. "But we need to silence this entirely. Jones is really interested. And knowing her, she won't stop until she unveils it and/or destroys it. So, I gotta ask... how much longer do I need to pretend before we gank this group?”

Reynolds made a disturbed expression. "Easy, kid," he settled his cup down on the counter. "No need to get all violent. Stark wants you to stick with them. See if there is anything unusual or if there's any connections that we need to be aware about."

“Like what?" Harley inquired, tired of being kept out or given little information to work off. "I've been with them for almost a year and I still have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Am I supposed to go after Jones? Ned? I mean... why the hell am I still here in Queens?”

When I can be doing other and better things, Harley thought.

On slower days, Harley daydreamed of working alongside Tony Stark as his protégé and learning from the man. He imagined himself becoming Tony’s confidant, building technological designs together, and being Tony’s right-hand man for the future. Harley dreamed of working in tandem with Tony in defeating their enemies that threatened a revolution to this new, peaceful world. One of them was Michelle Jones and Harley wanted to serve her justice, but every attempt he made to initiate the process of wiping out Queens' Resistance was denied. He was told to stay put, keep his eyes open and ears listening. 

Reynolds sighed, understandably. "I get it," he said. "Hell—I don't even know why Stark is holding out. I mean, I think I know, but it's… whatever. Could be focusing on something else, but I guess it has its merits. Infiltrating the enemy and all. May help us learn their ways and figure out if there are any other hidden resistances."

“So far, there's none," Harley replied. "Not after Brooklyn was wiped out.”

“Outside of New York.”

Harley took another bite of his sandwich, frustrated. "Well, if Jones knows another group, she isn’t sharing it with the rest of us,” he said, chewing. “She’s gonna focus on the Hole, Reynolds. If she keeps digging… we'll have to do something. Eliminate her or the whole group."

“Probably," Reynolds agreed with a shrug, not at all concerned on the matter. Maybe if Reynolds actually met her, he may share the same anxiety Harley has in the pit of his stomach. "But for now, remain a rebel. Be a friend. A good listener. Stay the course.”

“I know, I know," Harley nodded his head along. "I'm a fully trained SHIELD agent. Remember?”

“Ranked the best in the class," Reynolds said with a smile. "I know. I was there.”

Of course, Reynolds was there. He recruited Harley to his team, to which Tony wholeheartedly approved. Harley was pleased and while his mother didn't attend the inauguration of the new agents of SHIELD, Tony supported him and even took him out to a celebratory dinner afterwards at an upscale restaurant. It was one of Harley's happiest moments in his entire life.

He tossed his crusts and crumbs into the garbage. "Fine. I'll keep up the guise," he said. "If Jones sticks her nose further into it though..."

“We'll take affirmative action," Reynolds agreed to Harley's unsaid message. Then, the man craftily smirked at him. "She must be some character to be around. You make her out to be quite the nemesis. How come she hasn't rooted you out yet?”

“Because I'm better.”

Reynolds snorted, chuckling at his response. “Right you are,” he said, patting Harley’s shoulder. “I best get going. Report my weekly debriefs. All those fun things.”

“Cool,” Harley said. “But, hey, um next time you do these visits, let me know beforehand. What if I brought people over? Like Jones or Ned? Or if I wanted to spend time with a girl—”

“Do you mean Laura?” Reynolds asked, intrigued. “How’s she doing?”

“Don’t know,” Harley shrugged, nonchalantly. “Haven’t spoken to her in a while. What? We weren’t dating. And that’s not the point—I need to know when you’re going to show up. That way my cover won’t get blown.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Reynolds brushed aside. “My appearances aren’t random. I know when to appear and when not to, including if you decide to bring _someone_ back here.” He eyed the whole, tiny apartment. “But, if you wish, I’ll inform you next time.”

Harley smoldered his frustration and gave a tight reply. “Thanks.”

Reynolds headed to the door, picking up his hat from where he left it on the bookcase. “Are we to see you upstate this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Harley answered as he went to get the door for the man. “I’ll be there Saturday. Tony and I are meeting up for dinner.”

Reynolds slowly nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you again,” he commented. “Been awhile since the two of you met up.”

“Just three weeks.”

Tony had been away to Europe, meeting delegates from other countries and setting up the World Order Council (WOC). It took a lot of time, paperwork and people to get the system set into place. Tony worked on it for months, trying to find the right people, trustful people, to do the job. Lots of plane trips, meetings and late nights. Tony confided to Harley about his hopes on quickly setting up the WOC, so that he could relax more. Focus back on things that mattered to him. Like his friends and family. Tony then gave him a little smile, “ _Like you, kid_.”

Harley hoped everything went well. He looked forward to be able to spend more time with Tony. Learn from the master, maybe even build a suit of his own. Fight alongside with Tony Stark, watching his back as Tony watched his. The Invincible Duo!

That was the dream.

Reynolds grabbed the doorknob and twisted it to open. “I’ll see you later, kid,” he said. “You did good work today. Stark’s going to really appreciate it.”

Harley grinned, knowing well that Tony appreciated everything he did. Unlike his own mother. “Yeah, okay,” he said to Reynolds. “See you this weekend.”

“G'night, kid.”

Reynolds was gone and Harley strode to his cramped bedroom, feet tripping over the uneven flooring. He groaned a little at the crappy structure of his apartment. He couldn’t wait for this to be over and return home, back to the Compound on a more permanent basis.

Unfortunately, he was still stuck playing Resistance soldier to Michelle. God… that girl was trouble. Reynolds may not see it yet, but Harley did. She was going to become more problematic for them. They needed to get rid of her.

Sooner rather than later.


	2. The Upstate Detour

Harley didn’t lie to Ned. Not entirely. The trip upstate was to visit his sister, but it was more of a side-attraction to his main journey. 

He traveled to upstate New York early Friday morning. He parked his car right outside the campus, next to a large, brick dormitory. Fancier school than he ever attended back in Tennessee. Probably taught Latin, Harley suspected.

He stepped out of the vehicle and leaned against it as he waited. It was only for a few minutes before he spotted his sister and her friend exiting out of the double-wooden doors. Harper Keener was dressed in jeans and a sweater. Her blonde hair curtained her heart-shaped face as she and her friend incisively chatted to one another, giggling a few times before they saw him.

“Hey, bro!” his sister called to him as she and her friend approached.

Harley lifted his chin. “Hey there,” he directed to the two teenagers.

The friend’s face suddenly flushed, turning her gaze away. She muttered out a squeak before ducking out of sight and quickening her pace away from them.

Harper called after her. “Bye, Katie!”

Harley simply raised his brows at Katie’s flustered action before he turned back to his sister with a heart-warming smile. “Took you long enough,” he said, giving his sister a hug.

“Please! I saw you from the window. You only just got here,” she argued, breaking their hug and tugging on the passenger door’s handle. “Let’s get out of here! Don’t need any more of my friends knowing you’re in town."

Harley rolled his eyes at his sister’s subtle remark. Her friends were always giggling or blushing or trying to act far older than the teenage girls they were whenever he was around them. It annoyed his sister, but Harley took it in stride. He was aware of the effect he had on the opposite sex.

They got in the car and drove into another town, far away from her school to avoid meeting classmates. Harper talked away as Harley found a place to park on the street before heading out to find a place to eat.

“Anna and Cece are Team Michael, but I don’t understand how they could root for that guy. I mean… he’s such a jerk now. Maybe in the earlier seasons, yeah, I can see it, but now? No way in hell—”

“C’mon,” Harley lightly scolded his younger sister. “Don’t say that.”

“What? Hell? Everyone says it.”

Harley didn’t care if everyone said it. He cared that his baby sister said it. Harper Keener may no longer wear her blonde hair in pigtails, or dress up in Dora the Explorer clothes, or draw pretty unicorn pictures anymore, but that didn’t mean she could go off with a foul mouth. Harper was better than that. At least, Harley wanted her to be better than that. He worked hard for her to get into Masters, an elite, co-ed boarding school in upstate New York. This was her chance to do something great with her life and he didn’t want her wasting it on boys and cursing.

“I don’t care if everyone says it,” Harley said. “And besides, who is this Michael boy anyway? Is he in one of your classes?”

“What? No! I—weren’t you paying attention?” Harper frowned at her big brother. “I’m talking about this telenovela my friends and I are watching.”

Great, Harley thought as he rolled his eyes. Fictional boys. The worst.

“Can’t we talk about other things?” Harley pleaded. “Instead of your girly TV shows?”

“You asked what was on my mind. Just telling you.”

“Appreciated, but let’s move onto something more… real.”

Harper shrugged as they finally reached the café. They sat down at a tiny table and Harley ordered two coffees for them. The waitress returned with the coffees and Harper went to town on the sugar and cream. Harley kept his black.

“You didn’t invite Mom,” Harper noted as she took her first gulp toward diabetes and rotten teeth.

Harley shook his head. “Nah—wanted to spend time with my little sister. Besides, she’s probably working or… I don’t know. Doing something. Why? Do you see her often?”

Harper shook her head. “No. Not since I enrolled here,” she confessed. “She’s kind of huffs and puffs every time I call and talk about school. She doesn’t like it.”

“Like what? The school?”

Harper shrugged again and took another sip of her coffee. Harley knew the answer though. His mother hated that Harley took over his sister’s well-being. It wasn’t his fault that he got a better paying job and that Tony Stark was more than willing to pay for Harper’s tuition and their move to New York. Tony supported Harley and that extended to his family.

Yet his mother hated the man’s interference in their lives. Or, as Harley believed, she hated that Tony did a better job than her at being a parent. Neither Harley nor Harper complained. They were happy. Happier than they would have been back in Tennessee.

Harley took a drink of his coffee and put the menu aside. His sister’s eyes scrolled down the menu, searching for something delicious to eat for brunch.

“How is school coming along?” Harley asked, checking in on his sister’s academic performance. .

Harper half-shrugged. “Same old.”

“Good grades?”

“Always.”

“No troubles? Getting along?”

“Bridget is shit, but otherwise—”

“ _Harper!_ ”

“—all is good,” Harper smiled up from the menu. “What about you? How’s the whole Agent Spectrum?”

Harley’s eyes bulged almost right out of their sockets. “ _Harper_!” he hissed. “You can’t—”

“I didn’t say anything! Jesus…”

Harley eyed her suspiciously. “What do you tell the kids at school?”

“That my big brother is a lazy asshole who works as a cable guy in the city,” Harper returned with spitfire. “Don’t get your undies in a bunch. I know not to say anything stupid. That’s why I said  _Agent_   _Spectrum_. Get it?”

He did, but he was not amused. “Well, don’t even start throwing the word ‘agent’ around,” he uttered. “I don’t want people to know. It’s important no one knows.”

“Fine. I’ll just say ‘failure at life’ like Mom calls you.”

“Hardee-har-har.”

The waitress returned and Harper ordered the farmer’s breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast and pancakes. Harley ordered toast.

“That’s it?” Harper asked as the waitress walked away with their orders. “You’re not hungry?”

“I’m having dinner with Tony,” Harley answered. “Early dinner, and I don’t want to stuff myself with food prior to it.”

“Because you rather stuff your face with fancy, imported meals with _the_ Tony Stark—”

“ _Quiet!_ ” Harley swore his sister didn’t understand the meaning of subtle or simple discretion. He checked around them. No one paid any attention to them, but that meant shit as far as Harley knew. “Don’t parade that around. Not in the open. Don’t know who could be listening in.”

Harper blinked. Her blue eyes round and full of mirth. “You’re paranoid,” she laughed a little, “but all right. I won’t.” She raised her mug up to her lips again, taking a long drink. “God—I love coffee. Thank the heavens and angels for this savior.”

Harley shook his head at his sister’s odd devotion. She was always a more colorful person than him.

“So… how is the pseudo-father treating you these days?”

Harper’s inquiry wasn’t a cruel jab. Not like how their mother said it. Harper actually appreciated everything Tony had done for their family. However, that didn’t stop her teasing Harley about his admiration with the great hero of the world. She knew Harley loved him like a father. And everyone knew Tony loved him like a son.

“Good. Been keeping in touch,” Harley responded. “He’s coming back from Europe today. That’s why we’re having dinner. Catching up and all that.”

“Fun—except, probably boring. All you two probably talk is engineering or whatnot.”

Harley bore a smile. “We’re both mechanics,” he said. “We don’t find it boring.”

Tony and he often discussed the latest model of different items Stark Industries produced. Or swap ideas to get the creative juices flowing in hopes to spark off new innovations. Harley even built a few gadgets of his own in his bedroom to assist in his job. He looked forward to showing them off to Tony later this evening.

“Have you been to his workshop then?” Harper asked. “I heard it is, like, five thousand feet underground and you need to get your finger pricked in order to gain entrance.”

“That’s all bullshit.”

“So you _have_ been in his workshop!” Harper scooted closer to the table. “What’s it like?”

Harley exhaled at his sister’s cunning manner to get her answers. Granted, he had seen Tony’s legendary workshop. Stepped inside of it, actually. Got to look around and check out the row of Iron Man suits behind the glass casings. He found the Iron Man suit he remembered as a child, smiling wickedly at it as he recalled his first meeting with Tony Stark. Harley loved the workshop, but he didn’t even have full access to it. FRIDAY granted only three individuals with full access. Everyone else had to get permission to enter. Not that it was a problem for him to get in. Tony always allowed him entrance whenever he tinkered with his projects, but Harley still hadn’t built anything or worked alongside with Tony. When there’s more time, Tony promised him once after they left the workshop.

Harley held onto that promise, excited at the prospect to build something in the workshop.

Harper bounced her legs impatiently on her brother’s long pause. “Well?”

“Big.” And that was all Harley was going to say about it. “It’s _very_ big.”

“Descriptive,” Harper deadpanned. She took another long drink to finish her coffee. “So—besides him, do you get to work with any like… like, cool people?”

“Cool people?”

“Yeah. You know…  _cool people_.”

Harley knew who she was referring. Superheroes. Famous ones. A little smirk grew in the corner of his lips as a list of names came rolling through his brain. He knew quite a few  _cool people_.

“Yeah,” Harley said, casually leaning back in his seat. “I know a few here and there.”

“Like Johnny Storm?” Her eyes twinkled in excitement.

Harley’s easy grin dropped into a frown. Oh, he knew of Johnny Storm. The Human Torch wasn’t exactly one of his favorites, but Harley remained civil toward the Fantastic Four member. After all, he was Dr. Reed Richards’ brother-in-law. Had to be polite to that cocky son of a bitch. Even when that bastard was a pain in the ass.

“Yeah… I know him.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Can I meet him? Please?  _Please_?”

“No.”

Harper’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Why not?”

“Because he’s a tool,” Harley didn’t want Johnny Storm anywhere near his sister. That guy was a major flirt. And while his sister was underage, he knew Johnny’s charming smile would either melt or break her heart. “Anyway, he’s not in the city. Always elsewhere.”

That part was true. Johnny Storm typically stayed away from wherever Reed Richards’ was. Apparently, there was some sort of falling out among the family members. Johnny kept his distance and limited his engagement with Reed. However, he still kept in touch with Susan Storm, his sister, and visit her whenever he could.

Harper pouted at the rejection. “Argh… what’s the point of you working there, then?

“Because I like my job.”

“Lame,” she mouthed off as she folded her arm on the table. Then her face scrunched in a quizzical concentration. “You’re living in Queens now, right?”

“That’s where I am stationed at the moment, yes,” Harley’s brows furrowed questionably. “Why?”

“Do you know of a Spider-man?” Harper inquired and based on his reaction, continued. “My friend Katie, who you met, she’s from Queens, and she brings Spider-man up every time we talk about superheroes. Thought you may know him, being in Queens and all.”

Spider-man? Harley arched a dubious brow at the absurd name. “What? No,” he chuckled. “There’s no  _Spider-man_. Never even heard of the dude let alone know him.”

Harper looked crestfallen. “Oh, well… Katie was telling me all about him. She grew up in Queens and he was, like, her hero. Saved her and her mom from an out-of-control car once. Was about to plow right into their bus and he stopped it with his bare hands.”

“Cool. Still never heard of him.”

“Not even at… you-know-where?”

“No.”

If Spider-man existed, Harley would know about him. This mysterious enhanced weirdo would have resided at the Compound, training and working as an official member in one of the Initiative Teams. Or he would have been hunted down by the Initiative Teams and SHIELD units like the other unregistered, enhanced terrorists. Or, and Harley bet his money on this, Spider-man was prior to the rapture, which meant he existed only in the Hole.

Harper fell back in her seat. “Well, I guess she’s right then. About him being dead or something,” she said, dejected. “She said he went missing like four years back. But… I just thought he was, but whatever. I was hoping you knew something and that maybe I could tell Katie—”

“Nothing, because then I would get in trouble,” Harley reminded his sister. “Can’t go around spilling secrets, sis. Or I’ll lose my job.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Harper intoned in a sweet sound. “You’re too valuable. Plus, the boss man likes you.”

That was a plus, and while Harley knew that friendship protected him, it didn’t mean he could get away with everything. A major leak would certainly cost him a lot. He didn’t want to lose Tony’s respect or loyalty. He wanted to make the man proud of him.

“And we want to keep it that way, Harp,” Harley told his sister. “Or else you won’t see your friends anymore. I’ll have to pull you out of school. Send you back to public.”

Harper rolled her eyes, but she knew. Without Tony Stark’s financial assistance, Harper wouldn’t be at the school she attended or have the friends she had. She would be enrolled in a lower-class public school back in their Tennessee hometown. And Harley would have to be a full-time cable guy rather than part-time. That was not what he wanted at all.

Their food arrived and Harper dug in, enjoying herself and moving onto different topics. Harley nibbled on his toast, bantering away with his little sister until the meal was over and she had to return to school for her studies. Harley dropped her off at the school campus, right in front of her dormitory.

“This was fun,” Harper said, smiling up at her brother. “Wish you were around more often.”

“Me too,” Harley agreed. He did, in fact, enjoy his little sister’s company. “Maybe one day, when I finally move into the Compound full-time. That way you and I can hang-out more.”

“Or you can hang-out more with Tony Stark,” she quipped in return.

Harley shoved her to the car door. “Alright, get out of my car. Stop wasting my gas,” he said as Harper kept her jocular smile as she stepped out of the vehicle.

She slammed it closed and bent down to look at Harley through the open window. “Tell Stark I say hi,” she said. “And send my love to Johnny.”

“Okay, and hell no,” Harley said as he waved his sister off, turning his car around to head straight to the Compound.

* * *

He was excited to return, turning up the music as he got onto the highway. He sped down the road, animated at the upcoming reunion with Tony Stark. The man had been on the other side of the world, making arrangements with other governments to complete their new, united leadership group—The World Order Council, aka WOC. With United Nations dismantled, and nearly wiped out, Tony replaced it with a new team of government leaders. But it was just the beginning and he needed to be there to oversee the new group.

Today, he returned home. Harley waited three weeks. Three weeks to show off his ideas and plans to Tony, share his suggestions on taking down the Queens Resistance, and show him his engineering designs. He teamed with happiness and excitement, but he tried to school his face and body into a cool, collective manner like Tony Stark. He was twenty-two years old now. Not a child. He couldn’t squeal or freak out. He had to be an adult, prove to Tony his maturity and readiness to do whatever.

Harley arrived at the Compound. He showed the guards his badge, gave the code words and he got entrance. The parking garage wasn’t full yet, but that wasn’t unusual, especially on a Saturday. Even the trainees go out for a weekend retreat or vacation before coming back to continue their training.

He parked his car, sliding out and pushing colored sunglasses to his face. He sighed, looking out to the main building that had the large “A” symbol. The symbol for the Avengers.

Harley sighed with a smile. Home.

Inside, he recognized faces and people, greeting them politely as he made his way to the many elevators around the compound. FRIDAY addressed him, asking what floor he would like to proceed to. He told her the residential suite and FRIDAY instructed the elevator to go up.

Harley rested against the elevator wall, waiting for the doors to open. He expected to hear Tony’s voice filtering down the hall when the elevator opened. Instead, he heard nothing. No witty repartee or sneered insults. It was quiet with the exception of footfalls coming down the hallway. Harley looked out and saw Happy Hogan, hurrying toward the elevator with a tablet in hand.

“Hey, Hap!” Harley said. “How’s it going?”

Happy skidded to a halt. The man looked worn, tired, but then again, he always did. His hair got a little grayer and his skin appeared a bit weathered in the face, but overall, he looked the same as he always did—grumpy.

The man gave Harley a puzzled look. “Hey, um… w-what are you doing here?” he asked. “Needed a breath of fresh air?”

Harley returned with his own baffled expression. Old age must affect Happy inside more than outside. The man’s forgetfulness was something to be concerned. “Dinner plans, remember?” he said, lightly. “We rescheduled it for today when Tony got back.”

It took a second or two for realization to hit the older man’s face. The wide eyes, eyebrows thrusted upward and his mouth forming a tight ‘o’ expression before he looked back down to Harley with awkward unfortunateness.

“Harley…” Happy began and his gentle tone (unlike that normally blasé tone) sent Harley’s hope deflating. “Tony’s still in Europe.”

“Oh,” was all Harley could muster.

Happy shuffled, uncomfortable and unknowing what to do. “Um, I’m sure he meant to call. You know what? I think he asked me to tell you. I forgot,” he rambled. “Everything’s been crazy and all. Getting the WOC set up and running smoothly, and then the thing happening in Los Angeles and also Wakanda being difficult at the moment… a lot is going on. I’m sorry.”

Harley lifted a corner of his mouth, attempting to smile it off like it was no big deal. He got it. Tony Stark was a busy man. Being Earth’s hero comes with a lot of responsibilities. “It’s okay, Happy.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I was upstate anyway,” Harley reassured him. “Visiting my little sister. Had a big brunch with her.”

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing? Harriet or Heather—”

“Harper,” Harley corrected. “And she’s doing well. School is good. Getting good grades and everything.”

Happy nodded along, but Harley could tell the man didn’t have that much interest. Only being polite. “That’s great. Good,” he said. “So, um, you staying at the Compound for the rest of the weekend then? Or did you just come over to see… um, I don’t know.”

Happy looked lost and frazzled on what to say to him. Not that Happy normally spoke to Harley. They have been in the same room and car before, but with others. They were hardly ever alone with one another. Neither of their faults. That was how it was.

“Oh, yeah, um… no, I wanted to stop by here anyway,” Harley said, trying to cover up the real reason he showed up at the Compound. “Had a few ideas I wanted to go over with Reynolds and others. Maybe even check out that new simulation that was installed. Heard it’s a tough one.”

“Oh, yeah,” Happy said, remembering. “Finally replaced the old one. Needed something new that hasn’t been beaten yet. I think a group of new trainees are starting it today. You could go and watch.”

“Maybe I will,” Harley said, retreating to the elevator. “Be interesting to see the new talent in action.”

“Yeah,” Happy said in returned. “Hey, I’ll let Tony know you stop by and, he’ll make it up to you. He really feels bad. You know him. He hates politicians, but someone has to rile everyone together. And honestly, he probably would rather hang-out here with you.”

“I know,” Harley said, and he did. He knew Tony wouldn’t want to waste his time with boring politicians. But the world needed Iron Man more than ever. “I’ll text him. Send him a funny meme that he’ll understand. Probably make his day.”

“Probably.”

The elevator opened and Harley stepped right inside. “See you later, Hap.”

The doors closed and Harley fell against the wall, disheartened and crestfallen. He pulled out his phone, typing up a text to Tony.

_Hey man. Sorry ur stuck in Euro. Need me to come rescue u?_

Harley added a bit-emoji and then hit send. He kept his eyes glued on the phone screen as the elevator descended to the first floor. He headed over to the training center, but the screen never came to life. No messages. Nothing.

Harley’s shoulders slouched a little. He guessed Happy wasn’t lying. Iron Man was busy. Not ignoring, just occupied. Harley pocketed his phone and headed to the training center. He could use a couple rounds in the boxing ring to blow off steam from his agonizing week-long work. And then, entertain himself by watching the newbies get their asses handed during the new simulation.

He strode across the lawn with ponderings of what the new simulation could be. Probably involving magic. Tony always ranted on how magic destroyed the universe. Blamed magic and wizards (which sounded strange to Harley, but a lot of things were nowadays) for taking away the future. It was magic that wiped everything away. Harley remembered how the people vanished into nothingness. No warning. No rhyme or reason. Nothing. Like magic.

Harley shrugged, indifferent. Whatever. Harley wasn’t scared of a little magic. His training regimen during his studies to become a SHIELD agent prepared him to face impeccable odds and god-like creatures. There was nothing in existence Harley feared. That’s what made him the best SHIELD agent. It made him the most reliable agent and Tony’s number one guy. He got things done when others couldn’t. Tony trusted him, depended on him and praised him for all his efforts in contributing to making the world safer and better.  

He entered the facility and flashed his badge to pass through security. He greeted a few people he recognized like Bishop, Kyle Richmond and Gabe Jones, as he sauntered through the hallway.

“Look who it is!”

Harley picked up his head. Jack Harrison and Luke Cage headed in his direction, both wearing similar, knowing smiles as they approached him. Jack stood around Harley’s height with an athletic build compared to Harley’s lean, slender figure. His mousy hair was combed back, with only a few strands dangling over his forehead. Pale blue eyes gleaned in delight, matching the sincerity of his smile toward Harley.

Opposite of Jack was Luke Cage. The man was big. Taller than both he and Jack, and his muscles seemed to grow on top of each other, bulging right out of his skin. Dark eyes searched Harley, studying him as he crossed his arms in front of his wide chest. The lights above them gleaned Luke’s bald head, making his dark skin smooth and silky.

“The prodigal son returns!” Jack teased as he skipped up to him. “Well, one of them at least. Where you’ve been? Haven’t seen you around.”

Harley missed his bedroom at the Compound and all of his prized possessions. Instead, he lived in a rundown walk-up in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be an underpaid employee, barely surviving in New York.

God, he hated it, but that was the job.

“Queens,” Harley answered, despondently. “That’s where I have been the past year and it’s definitely not like anything here at the Compound.”

Jack laughed and Luke’s frown moved a little more up into a small smile. “Hang in there, squirt,” Jack clapped on Harley’s shoulder. “You know, Luke and I knew someone from Queens. He didn’t think it was all that bad. Missed it actually.”

“Then he didn’t know any better,” Harley grunted in return.

Luke shrugged and then changed the subject. “You stopping by to see the new simulation?”

“Yeah—thought it would be good entertainment.”

“Same here,” Jack answered. “Join us.”

The three of them started walking, heading to the simulator viewing room. “How’s work?” Jack questioned as they passed through a pair of double doors. “Any problems? Need the team sent in?”

“Not really. Just have one little issue,” Harley replied. “I already spoke to Reynolds about it and… I know what I have to do. I got it handled.”

Luke and Jack nodded along. “Yeah… our line of work is difficult. It sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?” Jack reflectively remarked. “I mean, Luke and I have our moments too. Dealing with people who just don’t understand or… yeah. It’s hard. Tough. But… I’m sure you’ll do fine. Right, Luke?”

“Right,” Luke replied, but he wasn’t really listening. Too busy focusing on walking ahead of them.

Jack slugged an arm around Harley. “Hey, and you know what? Soon, you’ll be back up here again, wasting your days around us weirdos. A prince once more!” Luke shot Jack a strange look and the man cleared his throat, quieting. “Well, actually, never mind. Point is, you’ll be back here before you know it.”

Harley snorted. He hoped to return fully to the Compound or to Stark Tower. He had big dreams ahead of him. This small-time, double agent gig wasn’t mean to last forever. He knew that from the beginning, but Harley was eager to move-on. He was deep within the belly of the beast with the Resistance. He could crush them. End it all with a single call.

But, Tony wanted him to lay low. At least, that was what Reynolds told him. Tony wanted something. Something from the Queens Resistance, but Harley didn’t know what and, from what he gathered, neither did Tony or anyone else.

His job only contained mysteries.

They reached the simulation viewing room. A few others were there as well, including an instructor and a few technicians to make sure it all ran smoothly. Harley, Jack and Luke sat in the back to wait for it all to begin.

Harley leaned over in his seat. “Have you guys tried it out?”

Jack and Luke shook their heads. “Nah. We don’t have to,” Jack answered. “We beat the old one. So… we don’t really have to do these tests anymore.”

Harley’s brows furrowed a bit. “The old simulator? Everyone beat that old program.”

“No. Only our team,” Luke corrected. “Never had to do it again after that.”

“It’s why they got the new one,” Jack explained. “After we beat it, they realized they needed to step it up.”

“I thought it was because of what happened with Stark?” Luke questioned Jack’s reasoning. “With whatever happened on the day everyone—”

“Well, maybe that’s why they upgraded, but I thought the reason our team hasn’t tried it is because we beat the old one.”

Luke considered, before he shrugged indifferently. “Whatever. No one has told us we had to perform for the new simulator. So, I guess we don’t have to worry about it yet.”

“Lucky you,” Harley muttered. “Where is the rest of your team?”

“Off somewhere,” Jack replied. “Yuriko went on a little mini-vacation and Min Li is assisting another team over in Oklahoma. Just Luke and I are in town. We’re taking a break before we gotta go patrol New York again.”

“I keep forgetting your team is small,” Harley said. It was relatively smaller than the other enhanced teams. Most had around seven members. Reynolds’ enhanced team only had four. At one point, Harley was told it had six members, but two had unfortunately been lost.

Or, as Harley interpreted it, dead.

He asked Reynolds what happened, but the captain refused to satisfy Harley’s curiosity. Even Luke and Jack were hesitant to talk about it. Whatever happened left some kind of scar on the team. On everyone, because no one talked about it. Harley stopped asking. Whatever happened was part of the past. The two former teammates didn’t cut it. Didn’t succeed and paid the price. As Harley often told himself, always be ready for anything. That way he would survive.

The doors down in the simulator opened and the new recruits spilled into the simulator.

Time to watch.

Just as the program started and the recruits prepared for action, Harley’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen. It was from Tony.

He swiped the screen to open and read the message.

_Thanks. Sorry about dinner. Make it up to you._

That was all the message read, but it made Harley grin. He relaxed and leaned back in his chair, arms in his lap as he watched the recruits battle to save the city and its people. A monstrous, purple giant formed in the center, along with several minions that stepped through flaming portals of some sort, to confront the young heroes-in-training.

The battle began. Harley watched with everyone else as the recruits all stumbled their way through the fight against the mad monster. But, Harley hardly saw the battle play out. He only pictured his own fantasies about becoming more than a simple agent.

Everything was good.

For now.


	3. Royally Fucked!

Harley got out of the shower, quickly drying himself off to pull on a pair of pants. He stepped up to the fogged mirror, using his hand to wipe a clear area. He took a moment to study his face before rubbing a towel over the top of head in an attempt to dry his hair.

With a comb, he styled it exactly the way he liked. He checked his chin and neck, determining he had no need to shave. Not that he had much hair under his chin. Very little, actually. Probably never be able to grow a full beard any time soon. Or ever.

A little more preening and Harley was done, approving his suave appearance. Not exactly as classy as Tony, but enough to look put-together. After all, Harley was supposed to be a poor, field technician. He can’t exactly go around sporting Tom Ford clothes and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Not that Harley particularly enjoyed wearing suits, but knew he couldn’t come off looking impeccable and wealthy like Tony did every day. One day, but not today.

He stepped out of the bathroom. His skin prickled at the touch of cool air tickling his skin. He crept across his bedroom, doing his best to avoid the creaks in the wooden floors as to not awake the girl in his bed.

The girl shifted in his bed, the covers slipping to reveal the smooth skin of her clavicle to the crevice of her bosoms. Harley’s eyes lingered a little on the exposure, appreciating the view before he finished up buttoning his shirt.

Her name escaped him. He met her at the local bar. She wore a tight mini, black leather skirt, white tank-top with a long necklace that kept attracting his eyes toward her chest. Her brown hair was nicely tousled and her pink lipstick brightened her lips well. She flirted heavily throughout the night that when he invited her back to his place, she didn’t refuse.

Now, she laid sprawled in his bed, her clothes piled off to the side. Her perfect beach wave hair tangled in a messy knot that resembled a bird’s nest. Her pink lipstick from the other night was wiped off her lips and printed all over his sheets—and on him before he rinsed it off.

God, last night was fun! He needed that distraction. That relief to simply enjoy himself for a bit before going back to work. Back to pretending to be someone he wasn’t. All for the greater good.

It had been two weeks since Jones uncovered the Negative Zone. And like he predicted (and warned), Jones hadn’t given up on searching for the Negative Zone. She even planned to send a scouting party to check out Stamford, which struck fear into Harley. If Jones figured out his tracking device was a fraud, Harley would be exposed and there goes a year’s worth of espionage work. He reported to Reynolds that Jones was checking out Stamford, but the captain shrugged it off. Jones was not a serious threat to them.

Not yet, Harley bristled as he yanked his shoelaces tight across his foot.

A squeak from the mattress drew him back to the bed, seeing the local girl stretch her arms out as she awakened. Her eyes fluttered on him, lips pulling into a smile.

“You’re in a rush,” she said.

“I’ve got work.”

“What about breakfast?” she questioned. She sidled up in the bed, the blankets falling down to expose her chest. “You promised.”

Harley didn’t even look. “I know, but my boss called. Changed my schedule. Got an early appointment out in Astoria. Can’t do anything about it,” he said as he finished tied up his shoelaces. He stood up. “Cereal is in the cabinet by the sink. Bowls just below.”

The girl huffed, lower lip pouting. “That’s okay,” she decided. “I’ll stop by at a Le Pain Quotidien. Get myself something substantial.” She stretched her arms out. “After all, being the boss means I have complete control of my day.”

Harley caught her smile, clearly enjoying her immense power and freedom she reigned that he currently lacked. He groveled a bit as he tucked his button shirt into his pants, wishing he too had more control over what—

A spark of an idea lit into his brain, connecting synapses and igniting a plan into development. He turned back around from the bedroom door, focusing on the girl.

“What did you say?”

The girl—still, her name escaped him, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask—puzzlingly stared up at him from the ransacked bed. “Nothing. Just that I’ll get food from somewhere else.”

“No, not that,” Harley dropped back onto the bed, now leaning closer to her. She was unafraid though. A twinkle glimmered in her eyes as she waited for him to continue. “About being the boss.”

“Oh. That?” the girl shrugged as her lips peeled back seductively. “Yeah, it’s great. You can come into work whenever or work from home. Be in charge. All good things. You should try it.”

Maybe I will, Harley thought as he considered his newfound idea, cultivating it inside his head.

He flickered his eyes back to her, drawing his gaze downward as an appealing, sly smile tugged in the corner of his lips. “You said something about breakfast?”

“You said something about an early appointment?”

Harley moved closer, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears. “Yeah… traffic though. Sucks doesn’t?”

The girl laughed and then went quiet as they settled down for breakfast.

* * *

“You’re late.”

Reynolds was not in a good mood. Not like Harley, who strolled into the office building. It was an official Spectrum office, but that was mostly a front for their operations within the city’s limits. SHIELD set up hundreds of these store fronts for their network operations to help keep undercover agents’ identities. Harley arrived at work with his half-open messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, hurrying inside only to be greeted in the front lobby by Reynolds. His superior waited for him and the fact Reynolds was around ten minutes late discerned Reynolds deeply.

Harley, however, took no offense. “Sorry. Traffic.”

That only got him a snort in disbelief. “Come with me,” Reynolds ordered in a huff. “We need to go over strategies on how to keep your little rebel buddies from finding out about the Tactigon.”

“The _what_ now?”

“I know. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what she’s calling herself,” Reynolds agreed, going through a pair of secured doors. “She’s been spotted in the Bronx. Throggs Neck. Sources say she’s trying to make contact with someone named Red Tiger.”

“Oh… okay,” Harley brushed it aside as he hurried after Reynolds’ large strides. “Um, actually, I want to talk to you about something else.”

Reynolds huffed a chuckle. “Talk to me after the meeting that you’re late for.”

“It’s important. I promise!” Harley urged, but Reynolds didn’t slow down. “It has to do with the Resistance!”

Reynolds halted so suddenly Harley nearly collided into the man. Reynolds whirled around, eyebrows drawn close together in concerned interest. “What happened now?”

“Erm… nothing. Nothing bad,” Harley quickly added after Reynolds shot him a stressed look. “It’s just… I figured a way to stop Jones—”

Reynolds didn’t even wait to hear more. With a roll of his eyes and a ridiculed scoff, he dismissed Harley and continued down the hallway. “Unbelievable,” was all Reynolds said with a shake of his head.

“Wait! I’m serious,” Harley rushed after Reynolds, keeping up pace. “I have a plan—”

“We’ve been through this,” Reynolds sniped. “Do your damn job!”

“I am!” Harley shouted. He grabbed Reynolds’ shoulder, demanding the man to stop and listen. Surprisingly, Reynolds did, but the exchanged of contempt was frightening.

Harley let go. “Sorry—sorry, it’s just… I’ve been doing this undercover work for almost a year now, and I have nothing to show for it. No notes. No goals. No endgame in sight. Hell—I’m not doing anything,” he reasoned, but Reynolds’ face remained expressionless with the exception of those critical blue eyes glaring right at him. “But, I could do _more_! I could turn this Resistance group into something actually useful for us.”

Reynolds rolled in his lips, gaze drifted absently in thought. Harley prepared to continue his speech when the good captain sighed with annoyance.

“Fine,” Reynolds grumbled. “You have two minutes. Go.”

Harley quickly laid the groundwork of his plan. He explained his idea of removing Michelle Jones as the leader. With her gone, the Resistance would barely function (“She’s the powerhouse of it,” Harley explained. “It’s why they’ve lasted this long, even before I joined.”). Jones’ absence would leave a hole in leadership and Harley would take on the mantle.

“What about Ned Leeds?” Reynolds inquired with a hum. “Wouldn’t he be the next in line, so to speak?”

“Maybe, but… Ned isn’t much of a leader. More of a side-kick,” Harley waved off Ned ever being a possible leader. “He’s happier as a follower, so it’ll be easy for me to take the position. And with me in charge, we could easily keep the Resistance off our backs _and_ use it to find other Resistance cells. SHIELD would have full control of the Resistance, and use it to help eliminate those who threaten to disrupt the peace and new order.

“So… what do you say?” Harley finished his pitch.

A long pause followed, dragging Harley’s hopes to a blazing comet. He waited with bated breath, watching Reynolds contemplate the plan with a firm expression, debating in his hand all the benefits. It was the best plan. Harley knew it. His current position did little for Tony Stark and the betterment of the world. All he provided was tidbits of Resistance movement that was promptly ignored or dismissed. With him as the leader of the Resistance, he could gain access to more, important information, secret plans, unidentified sources, and much more. Hell—maybe even help catch fugitives on the run by pretending to be their ally.

Reynolds let out a long, tired sigh. “Okay… draw up a proposal,” he said. “I’ll look it over and approve once I know this bizarre plan of yours will work.”

Harley’s face split into a wide smile. “Thank you! Thank you! I swear you’re not going to—”

“I better not regret it,” Reynolds rumbled in agreement. “Now, can we get back to the real problem? I got a dangerous fugitive and an unknown agent of sorts that we haven’t managed to identify. So, please.”

Reynolds said nothing else. He marched onward to the conference center. Harley's grin didn't fade as he trailed after Reynolds in blissful pride. He joined the others in the conference room, taking a seat and pulling out a notepad and pen. The meeting proceeded, deliberating on something or another. Harley didn’t know nor cared to know. His mind tuned everyone out as he busied jotting an outline of his plan. By the end of the meeting, Harley drew up the beginnings of his takeover of the Resistance. And the end of Jones’ reign of power.

* * *

“Thanks for coming.”

Harley glanced over to Jones. She was dressed in her incognito gear of black jogger sweats, black shirt and black zip-up jacket with an oversized hood. She also carried a back-pack with necessities like a phone, camera, paper and pen. Meanwhile, Harley just wore normal clothes—blue jeans, a Black Sabbath tee and sneakers that sometimes squeaked on certain floorings. He didn’t get the ‘wear all black’ memo when he volunteered to go with her on this stealth mission.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t going to make or break the mission. He shrugged as he surveyed the street they walked. “Well, Ned wasn’t going to tag along,” he remarked in a joking manner. “Besides, figured you could use some back-up.”

Jones smirked. “Back-up? With what?”

She made an excellent point. He carried no guns or knives. That didn’t make him useless. He was a fully trained agent, skilled in multiple fighting styles like judo and ninjutsu. Not that she was aware of those skill sets. All any of the Resistance members knew was that he was a computer geek. No experience in fighting. Only in being beaten up like all other outcasts and geeks.

Harley played along and gave her a helpless shrug. “Well, better to be with someone than alone, right?”

Jones somberly nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

They settled into a quiet contemplation on what they were about to do. Jones's focus contained righteous determination, eager to learn more about the Negative Zone. And Harley struggled to restrain his giddiness. It took a lot of effort for him to keep a straight, somber face. He repeatedly reminded himself to act scared and be wary of his surroundings. He followed Jones to the designated area where they were to meet with an anonymous source. Ned provided the details he obtained over the last two weeks and Jones believed his information to be accurate and trustful.

Little did they know it was all lies, fed to them by Harley and SHIELD.

Reynolds agreed to Harley’s proposed plan to usurp Michelle Jones. For weeks, Harley trickled in fake information into the right sources. Ned easily picked up the planted lies and reported it directly to Jones. The fake information brought hope to the Resistance. Jones especially. Her pursuit for the truth on the Negative Zone got her drawn right into Harley’s trap.

And now, they were at the climax. Once they arrive at the designated meeting point, Harley’s assigned SHIELD team would handle the rest. All Harley needed to do was act his part. Then, it would be all over.  

They came across a chain-linked fence, surrounding an old parking lot riddled with pot-holes, jagged cracks and sprouted weeds. The building beyond looked rundown. One wall had bricks missing and another had windows broken by hooligans throwing rocks. The loading dock lay splintered and destroyed with a few wooden stumps standing tall as water lapped against it.

Near the top of the building, chiseled words read: GEFFEN-MEYERS

Michelle stopped outside the fence, studying the haunting layout. Harley threw out a shudder as he peered through the fence to the dark building.

“Anyone else getting a bad vibe?” Harley posed. “You sure Ned said here? This exact place?”

Jones nodded. “This is where the guy wants to meet,” she affirmed and grabbed the fence to climb. “C’mon!”

Harley followed after Jones. Fingers gripping the metal irons as he climbed up to the top, only to topple over in an ungraceful manner. He heard Jones snort as she landed her drop.

“Here,” she took his hand and helped him to his feet. “You okay?”

Harley checked over. “Yeah. Just… you know. A near heart attack from a near broken neck situation. No big deal.”

Jones rolled her eyes and took a look to the building. “Let go then.”

Harley breathed, glancing up at the windows to spot any of his fellow agents’ shadows. He saw nothing. He guessed that was a good thing. No need to scare Jones off. His eyes skittered around the lot as they scurried to the broken, spray-painted back door.

Jones breathed deep. “All right, Ned said the guy we’re meeting with will be two rights and a left down the second floor,” she said to Harley. “Keep close. Stay alert. And remember the plan.”

Harley remembered the plan. Knew all too well that once they get to the second floor, SHIELD agents would burst out from their hiding spots and take Jones. Thus, leaving the Resistance vulnerable and letting Harley take it over.

Yes, he remembered the plan well and nodded. “I got it,” he confirmed. “Ready?”

They ventured inside. The building shuddered from the winds coming off the Hudson River, the old foundations swaying at its mercy. Harley heard it groan, giving the old building a ghostly revival. Still, Harley stepped further into the building with Jones. She charged up to the stone stairs that lead to the second floor.

They ignored the debris of rusted factory equipment, stepping over the discarded objects. Peeled, chalky paint-chips laid in fragments on the aging concrete, left behind like breadcrumbs. They tiptoed up the steps and reached the door to the second floor. The door moved on its hinges, but with a weariness of an old man. It creaked and moaned, giving away their position.

Jones cringed at the sound, but what choice did they have. She hurried in and urgently gestured Harley to follow. He did and he did his best to quietly close the door. It made the same, loud groan. Whatever.

She checked the corridor. “Okay, so we gotta go left,” she whispered, turning left to follow the instructions left behind by their anonymous (and non-existent) source. “Stick close.”

Harley didn’t. He kept a few steps back, eyes fluttering to each door in anticipation. Any minute, agents were going to storm upon them. Punch him in the face to “knock him unconscious” as they discreetly finished Jones. Harley didn’t know what the agents planned to do with Jones. That was Reynolds’ jurisdiction. And he had some kind of conscious regarding the well-being of the Queens Resistance group. Particularly Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.

Harley had his hopes, but he didn’t dare to challenge Reynolds’ authority on the matter. As long as Jones was out of the equation, he was fine with whatever Reynolds planned to do.

As they turned another corner, Harley became impatient. Where the hell was his team? They were to attack upon arrival. Perhaps they got the location wrong. No—that wasn’t it. They went over the plan multiple times. They even went over the plan twice today. They knew to meet on the second floor of the old chemical building by the Hudson. The ambush should start soon. Any minute now.

Unexpectedly, Michelle Jones stopped. Harley did too, his muscles constricting as Jones turned to look at him with a worrisome expression.

“Do you hear that?” she asked in a hushed tone.

Harley stopped to listen. In that moment of quiet, he strained to hear a single sound. There were soft creaks of life, made by the wind or mice scampering inside the walls. But, nothing out of the ordinary.

He shook his head. “I hear nothing. Why?”

God, he hoped she wasn’t spooked. He needed her to keep going and not turn back. If he must, Harley would personally take care of her.

He watched her eyes take in every detail of their surroundings, noticing things as if it was out of place rather than them. He too nervously glanced around the area, searching for his team and screaming internally for them to act now. 

Jones slid her feet back toward Harley. “Maybe we should—”

_BOOM! BANG!_

Doors on either side of them burst open, some even flying off the hinges and right into the wall. Black, armed assailants streamed into the corridor, launching right to them. Michelle slung her bag off her back and whacked the first agent to come close to her. But, as Harley knew, her efforts would be futile against these highly trained agents.

Initially startled, Harley kept up his perceived act. He reached for a broken pipe and swung it around at the agents’ heads, yelling too. He charged at one of them, but the agent used its gun to thump him hard on the head.

It actually hurt. The strong blow knocked Harley down to the dusty floor. The side of his head swelled as the pain pulsed inside his skull. God—that was going to leave a mark. He tried to get up, to show some kind of fighting spirit, but his agents did as instructed. They knocked him back down and gave a kick to his stomach. He curled into a fetal position and groaned, staying still as another boot kicked him in the face.

They were going a bit over board, Harley thought as he winced at his injured face. The last kick felt like his face inverted. It was hard to breathe through his nose and his mouth tasted of bile copper. A busted lip by the feel of droplets dribbling out of his mouth.

“Harley!”

It was Jones. He didn’t dare react to her cries. He stayed inert, like he was unconscious or dead. But he kept his ears alert, hearing her scuffle and throw punches as she tried to defend herself from the SHIELD agents. Harley wanted to chuckle at the futility of her efforts. Did she truly believe she could win a fight against not one, but eight agents? Jones was gutsy, but her bravado wouldn’t get her far in this fight.

The ambush lasted a little over a minute. Harley overheard a painful cry after a hard thump reverberated on the walls. They knocked her down. Good, Harley thought as he smothered his rising smile.

Something shattered. It sounded like glass, breaking into tiny pieces before scattering on the floor. And then, Harley heard a body drop. That was odd. Why would another body drop?

Harley listened closely. He heard more shuffling. More fighting. Punches were thrown. Shoes scuffed against the floor.

_Bang!_

Gunfire. Someone drew out their gun. What the hell was going on? Harley knew Jones didn’t carry any gun. All she packed was pepper spray.

His heart raced in panic. What the hell was happening? He didn’t dare open his eyes. Too risky to take a sneak peek. He relied on his other senses to figure out what he could not see. Snaps of bones followed by gurgled screams ricocheted off the walls. Thump after thump of bodies dropped, as grunts and yells roared in retaliation. He heard limbs come to blows and whacks of batons and other objects clash together until nothing.

A deadly silence fell over the corridor.

Harley freaked. He heard nothing. No sounds. No radios. No groans or cries or grunts. Only his racing heart that pounded profusely and aggressively in his head and ears made the loudest noise. He steadied his breathing, despite his heart pulsing a thousand beats per minute. He tuned in, listening hard on the new sounds of light-footed steps as it crossed over the concrete.

He winced when the screech of metal clawed at his eardrums. The metal screeched until a snap rang through the empty, quiet space. Harley’s thoughts raced, wondering if, maybe, the fake information they passed onto Ned was actually real. Or maybe it was part of Reynolds’ plans. Or maybe someone turned traitor amongst their group. Or maybe…

A series of shuffling interrupted his thoughts. Another set of footsteps jumped up, and a voice of concern spoke out.

It belonged to Michelle Jones. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?”

Harley didn’t recognized the new voice. It was no one he knew. No one from the Resistance. No one from his SHIELD team. The voice sounded young, and there was a hint of troubled burden in the gravitas of the tone. Someone who was used to bullied attacks.

“It’s not safe,” Jones replied.

A short pause. “Noted,” replied the newcomer. “Are you okay though? Saw them hit you—”

“I’m fine. Really. A small bruise at best,” she brushed off. “Who are these guys? SHIELD?”

“Yep,” Harley heard the newcomer answer as footsteps resounded in the corridor, circling not too far from where Harley remained prone. Then, the footsteps stopped. “Who’s he?”

“Oh god—Harley!”

He heard a short stampede approach him, before he felt a shadow hang over his body. He sensed Jones kneeling down beside him. “Harley?” she called, shaking his arm to get him to stir. “Harley? Are you… Is he okay?”

“Yeah. He’s awake too, just… scared.”

Scared? He wasn’t scared! Harley resented that, but more so that he got caught. When Jones gave him another hard shake, Harley put up a performance and rolled onto his side. He cradled his ribs and wearily blinked up to two dark figures who blended in the dark background.

“H-Hey, stop shaking… ow,” Harley groaned as he went to sit up, but the kick to his stomach made him double over in pain. Jesus… that wasn’t going to go away any time soon. “Michelle?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jones replied, and he noticed the relief on her face when he responded to her questioning. “Are you hurt?”

Harley squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to pretend he was dealing with a wave of newfound pain. “Yeah. Yeah… I mean, I’m okay. Just maybe some bruised ribs or something… I don’t—”

“Certainly a black eye,” Jones nudged her head in the direction of his face. “They really sucker punched you.”

In more ways than one, Harley thought as he spied all his men limp on the ground. “W-What happened?”

Jones didn’t even bother looking back. “Got their asses whooped,” was all she said on the matter. “You sure you’re okay?”

Harley stiffly nodded as he flickered a glance to second figure in the corridor. Their supposed “hero” who saved them from the SHIELD ambush.

It was hard to see him. The rescuer stayed hidden in the darkness, but Harley gauged that the newcomer was short. Not as tall as Harley, but around the same height as Jones. When the newcomer moved to inspect the bodies of the fallen SHIELD unit, Harley saw a glimpse of his face. The moonlight from the shattered window spotlighted on the face. Youthful, younger than he expected. His dark hair was matted and dirty, resembling a bird’s nest. He dressed in iron-patched clothes far bigger than his skinny frame and his sneakers had holes in the soles.

Harley couldn’t see his face very much. The lack of lightening shadowed much of the newcomer’s face from him, but from what Harley glanced, he didn’t look anything spectacular. A regular kid.

Jones looked behind her shoulder. “Are they dead?”

“No, not dead. Just unconscious,” he confirmed, standing up straight and looking out the window. “We better get out of here. More are probably on the way.”

Jones agreed and turned back to Harley. “You think you can walk?”

“I can try,” was all Harley grunted as Jones helped him off the floor.

With no other option, Harley limped away from his prone teammates, stepping over them as he and Jones followed the newcomer out of the building. He led them out another way, closer to the waters, and guided them through a labyrinth of streets, alleys and buildings. They evaded every public area and heavy trafficked streets, going down paths Harley wouldn’t dare to go down without his gun. But the newcomer was unafraid and led them to a darken alleyway about a mile or two away from the Geffen-Meyer.  

They stopped for a breather and Jones helped Harley leaned against a dumpster. He held the side of his ribcage while he winced at the growing headache. Jones checked his face, using the single street-lamp available to make sure the bleeding stopped on his lip and other rips in his skin.

“You’re going to be fine,” Jones decided. “Need to get a few of those cuts cleaned and probably take some pain medication for the headache. Nothing looks broken though.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Harley quipped and he looked past Jones to the guy who “saved” them. “Who the hell are you?”

Before the newcomer responded, Jones answered. “He’s a friend.”

Harley shot her a look. “A friend?”

“It’s okay,” she assured him with a small smile. “We can trust him.”

That not what Harley wanted to hear, but Jones didn’t specify or provide any more information. She got up and joined the street urchin, leaving Harley by himself to study their “savior”.

He got a better visual of their “savior” with the street light’s assistance. His face wasn’t anything significant or extraordinary. Brown eyes. Brown hair. And large, but sullen cheeks from lack of food. His jawline protruded, skin tight over it—again, from lack of nutrition. There was melancholy, in repose, which stayed with him in every expression he made. Like the boy lived far longer than he should have, which Harley found odd considering he was older than him.

Harley watched on as Jones approached. “Well… you look like crap. Ever heard of a shower?”

The newcomer smirked. “Showers are bit of a luxury at the moment.”

“I told you can stay at my place.”

“You know I can’t.”

“You’ve stayed over before.”

“I know, but I can’t. And you know why.”

Jones shrugged, nonchalant, but Harley could see a yearning look in her eyes. “Well, as glad as I am to see you,” she said, pleasantries abided. “What are doing out here? Taking a risk like that.”

“I checked. It’s fine.”

“That doesn’t matter. If they find out—”

“I know,” the newcomer said, firmer than before. “But, I got this feeling and I had to… what were you even doing there in the first place? You know that building is owned by Stark!”

“It’s abandoned! No one works there anymore.”

“MJ—”

The newcomer knew Michelle Jones. Well enough to call her a nickname he never heard the others utter before. Not even Ned Leeds, who was Jones’ oldest friend.

“We went there to meet up with a source,” Jones stated, holding onto some anger from the scolding. “Said he had valuable information about the Negative Zone.”

That got the newcomer to freeze up. Harley examined the minuscule change in the kid’s posture. The widening of the eyes as they froze over, the death grip of his hand on his wrist, and the clench of his jaw all pointed that he knew of the Negative Zone. That had to be impossible though. Unless Robertson told others. Unless there were more Resistance cells that Harley wasn’t aware of.

The newcomer struggled for a breath. “W-Why are you looking for the Hole?”

“The Hole?” Jones repeated, head tilted in confusion.

“It’s what the people inside call it,” the newcomer clarified for her. His movements were shaky and he tried to grip onto a nearby object to hold his hands still. To hold him still. “It’s their nickname for it.”

Harley’s stomach plummeted.

Holy shit. This homeless kid knew about the Negative Zone!

Harley struggled to remain impassive, to not look shocked or scared by the revelation that this newbie kid knew the Negative Zone. He wanted to run. To scream at the homeless youth to shut up, to even silence him with any weapon at hand. Don’t speak more, Harley begged and he prayed to whatever higher authority to silence the young man.

No more, please, Harley begged. Make him quiet!

His prayers went unanswered.

Jones’ eyes brightened. “You know it?” she asked, and when he nodded, she followed-up, “What is it? What is Stark doing with it?”

Harley’s heart throbbed in his throat, choking him as the newcomer went on to explain.

“It’s a type of prison for superheroes,” he answered Jones’ inquiry. “Basically, you are given a choice to either join or be imprisoned for life. No trial. No phone calls. Nothing. You are dropped there and forgotten. It’s why they call it the Hole.”

Jones eyes bulged. “Is that where Captain America is?”

“He’s dead, MJ. Remember?” The newcomer sounded defeated when he spoke of the famed Avenger. The melancholy grew in the shadowed void of the young man’s face as he cast his eyes down. “So are the other Avengers.”

Hearing that confession brought up a little chill within Harley. He was aware Captain America and his rogues were gone. Tony told him a couple of years ago that his former teammates were decimated in the Snap. When Harley asked how Tony knew, Earth’s Greatest Defender grimaced, “Because Steve would be here.”

And this homeless kid knew. The strength and sorrow in his words told Harley enough to know Tony was right about his former teammates’ fates. They were gone.

The newcomer folded his arms in front of his chest, lowering his chin. “But, um… yeah. It’s where they imprisoned other superheroes. Or anyone who disagrees with them.”

Jones breathed deep through her nostrils once, but said nothing further on the matter. “So that’s what they’re hiding up in Stamford.”

“Stamford?” the newcomer sounded surprised. “What? No—it’s located in the Baxter Building. In Manhattan.”

“What?” Jones and Harley said in unison, although for very different reasons.

The newcomer flickered a sharp, questionable look in Harley’s direction like he forgotten he wasn’t alone with Jones. The young man retreated further into the shadows, covering up his face entirely.

“Dr. Richards controls it,” he went on. “The portal is located in one of his laboratories in the Baxter Building. It's the only way in and out of the Hole. Highly secured and impossible to break into.”

Jones gaped while Harley was certain he felt a rope around his neck getting tighter and tighter. How in the hell did this ragamuffin know all this? Only a handful of people knew the exact location of the entrance to the Negative Zone and who controls it. Harley knew because he’s with Tony all the time. He spoke with Dr. Reed Richards too, talking about engineering designs and how to maybe create more portals around the globe so as to not rely on the single entrance.

This homeless friend of Jones’ shouldn’t know the location of the Negative Zone! Hell, he shouldn’t know a damn thing about it; and yet, he continued handing Jones detailed descriptions of it.

“Is there another way in then?” Jones asked. “Is there any way we can get those people out?”

“Unless you know someone who studied mystic arts, then no. There is no other way to get into the Hole. And even if you did manage to bypass security and enter through the portal, you won’t be able to get out of the Negative Zone,” he warned them. “It’s not a normal prison. It’s not normal in any measurement. It’ll make you see things. Feel funny and lost and helpless,” He drifted off, pulling his limbs closer to his body for a moment. “You’ll get trapped there if you go.”

Harley’s brows scrunched forward in perplexity. Harley had never been into the Negative Zone before. Tony gave him a brief overview of it once, so he had some idea of what it was like to be held in the Negative Zone. It sound scary. A living nightmare and he understood why so many enhanced soldiers never put up any fight against their commanding officers. The fear of the Negative Zone was enough to make even the villains live straight. But, the trepidation in the newcomer’s voice when speaking of it, portrayed a more personal history. Almost like the newcomer was thrown into the Negative Zone once upon a time.

He needed to figure out who this guy was. Get a name and report it back to Reynolds. Hell—he would even report it directly to Tony Stark!

Harley shot up his free hand, garnering the attention of Jones and the newcomer. “I’m sorry, but um, are we to believe that this ‘Negative Zone’ is like on some sort of unearthly plane? Like an astral plane?”

“Not exactly,” replied the newcomer. “It’s… something else.”

“Right… I’m sorry, again, but I don’t think I caught your name,” Harley apologized. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Not now, Harley!” Jones interrupted, who started to pace with her hands tented underneath her chin in mediation. “Okay… okay… well, there’s gotta be something we can do,” she muttered aloud, trying to piece together a plan. “I mean… maybe we can go to the press—”

The newcomer shook his head. “They control the press, MJ. Look—forget about the Hole, okay? There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Jones’ face went rigid. The corners of her mouth shot down as she glared at him for even suggesting the ridiculous idea. “Those people are being held against their will! Unlawfully imprisoned for disagreeing,” she hissed. “It’s our civic duty to stand up for their rights! To stop Stark from declaring himself King of the World… they have rights and liberties—”

“I know that!” the newcomer snapped. “But unless you possess magic, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’m not giving up—”

The newcomer slammed his hand against the fire escape ladder, not at all recognizing how painful that had to hurt. The metal rang all the way down the alley, effectively silencing Jones for a brief second in shock.

“Damn it, MJ!” the newcomer screamed, a plea of desperation to get Jones to listen to him. “You’re not getting it! The last time someone intervened, they died. Okay? They _died_! I don’t want to see you dead!”

Harley believed it was the first time he ever witnessed Jones go quiet. Speechless, really. The newcomer sagged against the wall. Haunted by decisions, failures and fears, it sank the young man into a sober silence of regret and remorse. Pain skittered across the young man’s face as he curled into himself for a split second.

There was a sheer weariness in his tone when he next spoke. “I’m sorry,” he uttered to Jones. “I… I just don’t want you to get hurt. And, not for something like the Hole. There’s no way to break out of the Hole. It’s… impossible. Only someone who’s trained in the mystic arts may help, but they’re gone.

“So, you gotta forget about it, okay?” the newcomer pleaded. “Find something else. Do something else. Anything, but that. It’ll only get you hurt and I can’t… I can’t.”

Jones didn’t say anything at first. She only stared at the defeated individual with sympathy and understanding. “What’s the point in this?” she challenged. “If we cannot fight for them, then what’s the point?”

Hesitation gripped the newcomer as he struggled to answer. He shoved his hands through his thick, matted hair. His eyes shined when he looked to her. “I-I… I can’t watch you get hurt.”

“And I can’t watch a dictator take over the world,” Harley noted Jones’s eyes softened as she stepped up in front of the young, troubled man. Then, she lowered her voice to a mere whisper.

Harley struggled to hear any of her words, but whatever she said made the newcomer retreat. He backed into the wall shaking his head.

“I-I can’t… I’m sorry,” he waffled as a sniffle filtered into his speech. “I can’t help.”

Suddenly, the newcomer jumped for the fire ladder. He pulled himself up in one yank, flipping over onto the first platform with such flexibility that Harley’s eyebrows flew up in astonishment.

The newcomer peered over the railing. “I have to go. I’ve been out too long as it is,” he explained his hurried exit. He looked back down to Jones. “Forget about the Hole, MJ. _Please_.”

“But—”

“Look into CID instead.”

Another shock rippled through Harley’s insides, twisting them into a singular, untangled knot. Did this guy know all their secrets?

Jones’s eyebrows furrowed. “CID?”

“Civilian Identification Detection,” the newcomer spelled it out, crouched on top of the railing like he was a gymnast. “Launched it about a few weeks ago. It’s their way of keeping track on any and all civilians at anytime, anywhere. Help them keep people in line. Find those who are wanted, etc. They’ll know your name by now. And maybe his too. Best you guys work on dismantling it or else you won’t get far on foot. Stay out of sight. Be safe.”

And with that departed warning, Harley watched their “savior” slip away from them. He scurried up the series of ladders, inching closer to the roof. Landing at the summit, he disappeared over the ledge. Gone without a trace, leaving behind him and Jones in the dark alleyway.

Neither of them said anything. A million things were going across their minds. Jones huffed, turning away from the wall and returning to her pacing as she muttered angry words underneath her breath. Harley's mind overloaded and an excess of possessed energy settled deep within him. A shrill scream rang forever in his ears as he tried to decipher his next step. His next strategy after this shit show.

Unfortunately, Harley only thought of one thing and one thing only.

He was royally fucked. 


	4. Identity Reveal

_“We are so fuckin’ screwed!”_

Harley screamed into the speakerphone system of his car as he sped out of the city. He weaved through traffic with recklessness and anger. He earned a few honks, but he threw up his finger in passing.

“Slow down,” Reynolds’ voice statically replied through the speakers. “What’s going on?”

What’s going on? Everything went to shit! They were fucked. He was fucked! Their whole operation exposed to Michelle Jones. Of all the people in the world, she learned of the Negative Zone and the CID system.

This was fucking nightmare! Goddamn horrific. Straight out of a horror film.

“What’s going on?” Harley spat, as he flew through a red light. “What’s going on is that we have a fucking traitor!”

“Harley—”

“And that’s not the worst part!” Harley ranted on as her jerked into the next lane to pass a slow vehicle. “The worst fucking part is that the traitor blabbed everything to Jones! Everything!”

“Okay, okay, look—calm down,” Reynolds ordered, but Harley couldn’t calm down. Not with the operation being blown wide open, available to be exposed to the rest of the public through Jones’ manipulations. “Start from the beginning. What happened to the Strike team?”

Harley recalled the traitor standing among the fallen agents. “They, um…got taken out. I don’t know,” he answered. “Last I knew they were alive, but who the hell knows?”

“Okay, I’ll get Extraction to go there now,” Reynolds said. “Where are you?”

“I’m driving.”

“You are?”

After everything that happened, Jones and Harley came to agreement to also disappear for a few days. Lay low and out of sight until it was safe to come back to the rest of the group. Harley feigned hiding up at his mother’s house for the rest of the week. He got into his car and took off straight to upstate New York, heading directly to the Compound.

“I’m heading upstate,” Harley answered as he cut in front of another car to get onto the ramp out of the city. “Be there in an hour.”

“Wait! Har—”

Harley hung up. Probably pissed Reynolds off, but the captain’s feelings were insignificant compared to the current dilemma. Harley squeezed both hands on the wheel and dug his foot into the pedal. The engine grunted and roared, his body thrown back a bit as the car lurched, speeding off as fast as it could to the Compound.

He arrived in record time. The old car screeched into the parking lot as Harley slammed on the brakes. He killed the engine and leapt out of the car in one swoop. Baffled onlookers watched him skip up the steps, flinging the door wide open and rushing into the lobby.

Reynolds waited for him by the massive staircase. His face contorted into severe lines, a deep burn of insult etched into the man’s eyes. Arms were crossed as Harley strode up to him.

“Captain! We have to start interrogating—”

Reynolds threw up a hand. Harley went silent. “Not another word,” Reynolds ordered.

He jerked his head, commanding Harley to follow him. Harley stayed silent, but his overactive nerves gave a bounce in his walk. Fear nettled him, only heightening his anxiety. Reynolds said nothing nor looked in his direction. Not until they reached the officers’ floor and they sequestered themselves in the privacy of Reynolds’s office.

Reynolds took a seat in his chair and gestured Harley to sit in the one across from him.

Harley didn’t sit. Instead, he went straight into his spiel.

“We have a traitor!” Harley panicked, pacing around the office to burn off the excessive anxiety riddled within him. “He told Jones everything! The Hole, the CID… and probably more! Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. What are we going to do? Huh? What’s the plan, Cap? Because, right now, I don’t see how the fuck we can get out of this.”

Reynolds simply arched his brows up, expression controlled and unhindered. The captain’s unruffled manner only aggravated Harley more. He stopped right in front of Reynolds and slammed both hands on top of the desk.

“How can you be so fucking calm?” Harley shouted, lungs burning and heart hammering. “Did you not hear a word I said? We have a _fucking traitor_!”

Reynolds folded his hands together. He met Harley’s hardened gaze with his own strict rebuttal. “Are you going to keep embarrassing yourself?” he questioned. “Or will you take a seat and talk like you have some ounce of sanity?”

Harley’s face beat red, but he sucked in a breath before he plopped into the seat.

Reynolds approved. “Now—I spoke with the Extraction team. They had already arrived at the scene. Went after they lost communications with Strike team. All of the agents are doing fine, by the way. The worst case was a sprain ankle—if you wanted to know.”

His interest on Strike’s team physical well-being wasn’t a high priority. Barely existing. He figured they were alive, only unconscious. That was what the traitor told Jones anyway. So, Harley’s worries for them weren’t present. They had much bigger concerns to dwell and worry upon.

“In regards to this unknown individual—”

“Traitor,” Harley traded.

“—it is disquieting that someone is spilling secrets.” Reynolds rubbed the backside of his hands, uneased by the revelation. “Did you get a name?”

“No,” Harley abjectly confessed, dropping his chin in his palm. “I tried, but Jones kept interrupting. Never found out.”

Reynolds sighed in disappointment as he tilted back in his seat. “Guess that means we’ll have to go old school,” he said, his finger tapping gently against his wrist. “None of the agents from Strike team were able to get a good look. They said he moved too fast for them. But—you did.”

Harley pinched his lips. “Well, kind of. He mostly stuck to the shadows.”

Reynolds’ eyes narrowed. “Did you see a face or not?”

“I did.”

Reynolds gestured for him to continue with the details. Harley gave him a quick description of the traitor: young male, early to mid-twenties, Caucasian, short stature, brown hair, brown eyes and frumpy clothes.

“There’s nothing else?” Reynolds inquired. “No birthmark? Mole? Dimple? Cleft chin? Anything?”

“I gave you all I know.”

“You basically described the general population,” Reynolds remarked, discontent. “There are _millions_ of people who match that description.”

“Yes, but we are looking for someone who knew about the mission,” Harley reiterated and the cogs in his mind clicked faster and faster. “So—it shortens the list somewhat. Plus, the person knew all about the Hole. Even stuff I didn’t know. It’s like… they’ve been inside or something. I don’t know. We’ll have to talk with Dr. Richards’ staff. See if there is anyone who fits that description.”

“But no one on Dr. Richards’ staff was made aware of the mission,” Reynolds reminded him. “Only Strike team, a few agents from Extraction, myself and you. And we accounted for everyone. You would have known the person or recognized them at least.”

Harley’s bounced his leg and thought. “Well, someone outside our group knows. Maybe someone from Strike or Extraction told someone else? Someone who works with Dr. Richards.”

The man hummed for a minute. “He only has a handful of people who work with him,” Reynolds’s eyes flickered up to the ceiling. “FRIDAY? Pull up profiles on Dr. Richards’s team.”

“ _Certainly, Mr. Reynolds_.”

The desk glowed and blue-tinted holograms of five profiles shot up between Harley and Reynolds. Harley studied each face, searching for the familiar face. He doubled checked each profile, his hope waning faster and faster until it was nothing but a burning ember.

“None of them match?” Reynolds said and he powered down the holograms. The faces disappeared, leaving the space open between them. Reynolds hands formed into a steeple. “That leaves us back to square one.”

Harley contemplated for a moment. There was another possibility. A possibility he knew Reynolds wouldn’t like or even believe, but the evidence pointed to it.

“Or… maybe,” Harley started as he wiggled up in his seat, “someone broke out of the Hole?”

He immediately saw the incredulous doubt on Reynolds’ face. “No—hear me out. It makes sense. The guy knew everything about the Hole. He knew it was in the Baxter Building. Who worked it. What the entrance looked like. What it felt like inside the Hole. He even knew we called it ‘the Hole’,” he explained to Reynolds. “Maybe there was an escape and Dr. Richards didn’t tell anyone? I mean, Dr. Richards has somewhat of an ego. Maybe he didn’t want Tony to know what happened? Thought he could recapture the guy and put him back without embarrassing himself.”

Reynolds repetitively shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

Not after seeing aliens raining down from the heavens. People vanishing instantly. And Thor coming to life and Captain America revived from ice. Nothing was impossible nowadays.

“Except that,” Reynolds countered, jabbing a finger at Harley. “No one has ever escaped and you can’t escape the Hole without assistance from the outside. So, unless you’re saying Dr. Richards has betrayed Mr. Stark—”

“I’m not saying that!” Harley’s fingers gripped the armrests of his chair, jaw clenched. “I’m saying that maybe someone from his staff—”

“Only Dr. Richards controls the portal to the Negative Zone,” Reynolds stated. “No one else. So, again, are you insinuating Dr. Richards let someone escaped?”

Harley bit the insides of his cheek. He wasn’t accusing Dr. Richards of sabotage. He knew Dr. Richards and Tony were old friends, and that they started this whole things together. They teamed up to create the 50-State Initiatives and worked alongside the government to establish a humane accountability with superpower and enhanced individuals. Dr. Richards helped establish a safer world, but Harley’s mind kept picking at it.

There was something not right. Something that didn’t make sense and it involved Dr. Richards. 

“No, but… something must have happened,” Harley persisted, running his hand through his hair, making it more stressed and messy. “How else did that guy know everything about the Hole? Even I don’t know half that shit, but it sounded pretty accurate.”

Reynolds spread his hands out, unsure himself. “I don’t know, but I’ll look into it.”

Harley coughed up an exasperated skepticism at the man’s word. “You’ll look into it?” he scoffed, brows arching comically high up his forehead. “Like you did with everything else I warned you about?”

Reynolds frowned. “Excuse me?”

Harley stood up, needing to be taller. To show his own authority to Reynolds. “I told you, time after time, that Jones was a threat. That she knew of the Negative Zone. That she would find out about it, but each time I brought it up, you shut me down. Told me to not worry about it. Do my job or what not.

“And then, this happens,” Harley aggressively gestured with his arms. “Now, we are in a lot shit because someone didn’t keep tabs. Someone blabbed. Someone got away. And that someone told the one person who’s going to expose us… all because you didn’t listen to me about getting rid of her in the first place.”

Reynolds said nothing at first. The office stayed intensely quiet. Harley knew he should feel intimidated by the sudden tension in Reynolds shoulders or the rigid cords in the man’s neck or clenched jaw. But, he was in the right. He knew he was right. The past five months, he warned Reynolds that Jones was a problem. He told them she was a threat, and they didn’t listen to him. They brushed him aside like he was a trigger-happy looney, but he wasn’t. He was right. And he wanted Reynolds to acknowledge it.

The captain rose to his feet. He towered over Harley, inches taller than him, as he glared. Harley swallowed through a lump in his throat. He stayed quiet and kept his focus, challenging the man to dare say he was wrong.

Reynolds’ mouth sharpened. “You should head home. Best you get some sleep,” he strongly advised, “or see a medic. Probably hit your head too hard.”

Harley’s nostrils flared at the insinuation that he was wrong. He wasn’t wrong. He was right all along. “You know I’m right,” he stated.

“Go home,” Reynolds ordered, no longer amused. “I can handle it from here without you.”

“Respectfully, sir, you can’t. You need me on this. I’m the only person who saw his face and I—”

“We got enough from—”

“—without me, you would have nothing. I did all the work here. I did everything. I—”

“—I’m not going to keep—”

“—can’t you just once _listen to me_?”

“ _Enough_!”

Reynolds voice boomed overhead that the Harley thought the room shuddered. Harley’s skin prickled in fright and his hands clenched, but Harley didn’t step back. Not even when Reynolds grew taller, his feet levitating inches from floor and towering over Harley’s own stature. Reynolds imposed himself upon Harley, his face contorted into a fierce mien that threatened severity if continued to be pushed.

“I’m done humoring your persistent insubordination. If you are seeking felicitations and commendations, I’m not going to give them to you,” Reynolds scowled, his words cutting the air like a sharp steel sword against flesh “You failed the mission. You didn’t even stop the person from releasing secrets to the adversary. So, no, I will not listen to a boy who thinks he knows everything when, in fact, he knows nothing.

“Now—get out of my sight,” Reynolds thundered his dismissal. “I don’t want to see you again in the next twenty-four hours. Maybe even longer. Go! C’mon… get out!”

Harley grumbled his frustrations as he stomped out of the office. And though petulant, he slammed the door hard and loud. Enough to rattle the doors’ hinges. Probably enough to make Reynolds bristle in his office. Whatever. Harley no longer gave a damn.

Mind aflame with indignation, he marched to the residential wing. He was outright insulted by Reynolds’ dismissal of all the hard work he poured into his job. All the effort he did on his behalf, even if it was all ridiculous and lacking. Harley spent his first year as a fully trained SHIELD agent playing a rebel, which bore no fruit at all. Nothing at all. Others from his graduating class teamed up with the 50-State Initiatives to take down supervillains, and he was stuck playing a poor cable technician.

But when something big and exciting comes across his path, giving him the chance to show his worth, he’s booted off. Like that. Tossed aside and ordered to keep his head down. Meanwhile, Reynolds and everyone else claimed the glory of catching the traitor.

Fuck Reynolds.

When Tony returns from Europe, Harley planned to tell him everything. No remorse from Harley when he lays blame on Reynolds and the man’s lack of leadership skills. Hell—Harley ought to text Tony right now. Report that half of their operations were exposed to the Queens Resistance because of Reynolds ignorance. Tony would side with Harley. The great Iron Man would be murderous at Reynolds for not listening to him.

Harley held the phone in his hands, twirling it as his fingers brushed against the screen.

No, he decided, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He could do better than tattle. Reynolds kicked him out of the investigation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his own recon. He possessed a Stark laptop, tablet and systems in his living quarters at the Compound. His security clearance gave him access to files and information that many others at his level would never achieve.

Harley didn’t need Reynolds assistance or power.

He quickened his steps, hurrying to go to his quarters and start the hunt for the traitor. Find the traitor first, before Reynolds, and deliver the traitor straight to Tony. All in a single day! And Tony would be impressed and honored that he did all that effort to save him from backlash. Maybe even promote him to his right-hand man?

His mouth split with a beam of delight and determination.

That would show Reynolds to not belittle him.

* * *

Well, shit.

After spending the rest of the night holed up in his room doing his own research and digging into the records, Harley came up with nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing.

Harley pouted as his investigation came up empty-handed. His security clearance gave him limited access to the files he wanted. At every turn, he was denied. He couldn’t even access records regarding his own Strike team. He guessed Reynolds locked him out. Probably pinged his security level down to spite him.

He hunched over his desk and typed relentlessly on his keyboard. Eyes glued on the monitors, scanning the pages and clicking on links to follow a trail. Any trail at this point. The tablet warmed his lap, saving his documentation and notes on his investigation. Which was only a half-page because he kept being denied to access _anything!_

FRIDAY kept alerting him that those files he wanted to open were confidential. Denied access. No amount of begging or promises or downright attempts to override her system, got FRIDAY to budge. FRIDAY even threatened to fry his motherboard if he attempted to bypass her security.

“ _I am not authorized to release that file to anyone without the right credentials_.”

“And what are those credentials?” Harley questioned. He could ask another person to open it for him, if that was what it took.

“ _You must be Tony Stark_.”

Harley threw up his hands. No way to get around _that_ credential. What exactly was in that file? There was no name written. Only listed as ‘Confidential’. Even the fucking title on the folder was confidential. But it popped up several times in Harley’s search for the traitor. His findings pinpointed him to a couple of folders. This one and Harley’s own profile.

Harley stared at the ‘Confidential’ file. “FRI? Is there any chance you can give me a list of names at least from that file?” he asked. “I just need names. Anyone who is between the ages 20 to 25.”

FRIDAY’s speakers crackled. “ _I am not authorized to release any information from that particular file without the right credentials, Mr. Keener._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that,” Harley slugged, dropping his head in his palm. “Unless I’m Tony Stark, right?”

_“But you are not Tony Stark_.”

Jesus Christ! No need to rub it in, Harley thought as he swiveled away from the monitors.

He looked to the windows. It was early morning already, the light chasing darkness to the ends of the Earth. Sleep deprived and flustered, he slouched in his chair. His stomach groaned and his bladder pained. He hadn’t taken any breaks. Too busy in stopping a global threat to think of such primitive things.

Unfortunately, his body didn’t and betrayed him with a strong rumble. He winced upon his stomachs upset. Time to get substance to carry on his investigation. He saved his progress and headed down to one of the many cafeterias in the Compound.

It was on his way back, carrying a cream cheese bagel and apple, when he ran into Jack and Luke. Those two always seem to come as a pair.

Jack gave a quick wave to him. “Hey! Reynolds said you were here. What’s going on? You normally don’t show up here on weekdays,” he noted. “You know, with everything happening in New York. Don’t you have some kind of big plan or whatnot?”

Harley’s jaw hardened. “I did.”

“How did it go?”

“It didn’t go as plan.”

Jack was sympathetic. “Bummer.”

Luke, however, shrugged. “It happens.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jack consented. “Happens to the best of us.”

Harley averted his gaze to hide his discouragement. He didn’t want to be like the rest of them. He wanted to be better. Not a failure.

Then, a spark lit in his mind as he darted his eyes between Jack and Luke. “Hey… you guys been here for like, forever, right?”

Luke scrunched up his brows. “Yes… why?”

“Maybe you can help me,” Harley said, watching the two friends quickly throw quizzical glances to each other. “It’s nothing bad or anything, but… do you know of a person, a guy, really, who’s Caucasian, has brown hair? Brown eyes? Possibly in his early twenties? You know anyone that fits that?”

“I know a lot of people like that,” Jack chuckled a bit. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“He works here. Knows about the Hole. May work for Dr. Richards,” Harley added on, observing Luke and Jack for any spark of recognition. “Anyone you can think of?”

Luke and Jack pondered, eyes rolled up to the ceiling in contemplation. Harley waited, eyes bouncing from one another upon each facial twitch. He prayed them knew someone who fit that criteria.

They didn’t.

“Sorry, man,” Jack expressed regret. “I got nothing, and to be fair, your description of the person doesn’t help much.”

“You basically described half of the population,” said Luke.

“Yeah, an average Joe,” Jack concurred and his brows drew together in thought. “Why? Did he give you some kind of trouble? He the reason why your mission went south?”

Harley nettled, fingers pinching the bagel. “You can say that,” he mumbled, shoulders dropping as hope fleeted from him. “Okay. Thanks anyway. See you around.”

He turned to trudge back to his room, to restart the search all over again, when a hand suddenly clapped on his shoulder.

“Hey—why don’t you hang-out with us for a bit?” Jack suggested. “Get your mind off of all that. We found that recording of our greatest hit.”

“Huh?”

“Our old simulation test,” Jack clarified to jog Harley’s memory. “Remember how you didn’t believe us last time? About us being the only ones who bested the simulation? Said you wanted to see proof? Yeah, well, Luke and I got the tape. Wanna come watch?”

Harley remembered watching the recruits struggle with the new simulation. Jack and Luke bragged how their team easily defeated the simulation. They boasted on about teamwork, cleverness and other things Harley conveniently forgotten. Near the end, Jack and Luke agreed that the current recruits wouldn’t even survive the older version.

After the recruits failed spectacularly (and embarrassingly), Harley mildly ribbed Jack and Luke about how they ought to demonstrate to the recruits how it’s done since they beat the simulation before. Jack and Luke didn’t appreciate the belittling, and it appeared they gathered their proof to prove it to him.

“C’mon,” Jack nudged Harley in the ribs. “Shows off how badass we are.”

Harley rolled his eyes at Jack’s insinuation. If anything, Luke was the badass. Jack was more of a good sidekick. “Tempting,” he said, “but I got a lot of work to do, so…”

Jack slugged an arm around Harley’s shoulder. “So do we, but what the hell?” he remarked. “We all need a break once in a while. Clear the head. Get rid of all those negative feelings that have clearly kept you awake all night.

“So, come on,” Jack ushered Harley in the opposite direction of his bedroom. “Or else Luke here will carry you. Right, Luke?”

Luke made a grunt.

“See?” Jack said, escorting Harley down the corridor. “And trust me, he’s done it before. Carried a kid all the way through one of the course obstacles.”

Harley found he didn’t have much of a choice. They traveled down different corridors until they found an empty lounge, a rarity as most lounges were occupied by someone or another. He guessed it was too early for people to start parading through. Most were probably sleeping or about to wake up, which left them to have the whole place to themselves.

Luke, with his super strength, rearranged the furniture to gather it around the single television. Jack was setting it up, ordering FRIDAY which tape to play. Harley settled down in a single, sofa chair, getting comfortable. He set his food on the side table, rubbing the apple clean against his shirt before biting into it.

FRIDAY pulled up the recording. Jack asked her to play at the beginning before he joined Luke on the couch, propping his legs up against the coffee table. Luke stayed at the opposite end, his head leaning against his propped, fisted hand. Harley reclined in his chair, watching the screen flutter to life as the video recording started with individuals entering the simulation room.

Harley spotted Luke Cage and Jack right away. They hadn’t changed very much, but he smiled seeing their anxious faces as the simulation started. He started to look forward to watching the video recording. Watching Luke and Jack jump around and act like fools might make him feel better about himself.

And, Harley silently confessed, he was a bit intrigued on what the old simulation was. He heard it was based on The Battle of New York, and he grew curious how someone like Jack and Luke managed to defeat it with supposedly no casualties.

The simulation started. The room turned into a city of chaos. He heard Luke give out instructs to his team. A unit of six. Harley forgotten that Reynolds team once had six members. He was used to it only being Luke, Jack, Lady Deathstrike and Silk Fever. He wondered who the other two were.

The screen followed Luke, being the leader of the unit. Harley listened to Luke give out instructions as the others scampered off to perform their duties. He watched them run into each building, rescuing people and redirecting them to safety. He listened to someone talk about wealth, and how they wouldn’t miss a few coins. He listened to screams of terror created by the programming. He observed Jack doing cool tricks to get people off the fire escape.

And he watched it all in boredom. There weren’t any aliens! Or wizards! Or even a giant, purple monster. There was no immediate danger Harley could find. Only a lot of people running in crazy directions, and away from a single, unappealing building.

Was that all the old simulation was about? He thought it would be more dramatic than this. More… action! This was nothing. He could probably save everyone in the simulation on his own. What was the big deal about this accomplishment?

Harley drifted, no longer finding the recording as exciting as he hoped. He went back into his mind, letting it be awash with questions regarding the traitor. FRIDAY had the answers, but her constant refusal hindered him. He could talk to Tony. Tell him it was for an important mission that he needed access to that file, but then Tony would soon learn what happened, and Harley didn’t want that. Not yet anyway. He wanted to get the traitor first.

_“You are jeopardizing this mission!”_

Harley got pulled out of his thoughts. He flickered a glance back to the screen. Luke stood in the middle of a street, between a smoking building and another person, someone much shorter than Luke.

The short person argued. _“I’m trying to save it!”_

From the screen, Harley could tell Luke was pissed.

_“No—go back! Now! Or I will drag you there!”_

Harley knew he meant it. He’d recognized that furrowed brow and deep indent on his forehead, his ablaze eyes at the audacity of this puny kid for challenging his commands. Harley wondered if this was what Jack meant when Luke “carried a kid”.

The kid clutched a hood and an exhaust pipe. Then, he shook his head. _“I can’t.”_

Harley almost snorted watching Luke’s face morphed into crevices of anger. Luke stormed forward to the kid, hands out to snare the kid in the man’s strong grip, but the kid jumped aside. The kid’s feet barely touched the ground as he flew passed Luke, dodging the man’s attempts to grab him.

There was something familiar about the kid’s acrobatic moves. The grace and ease of the kid’s movements reminded Harley of someone else. He’s seen those moves before. Recently, but where?

The kid sprinted to the smoking building as Luke screamed after him. _“Parker! Parker! Come back! It’s suicide! You’ll die!”_

The screen moved away from Luke. It stopped trailing him. Instead, it focused the inside of the smoking building, alit with small flames from trashcans, doors busted off their hinges, paper littered everywhere and all the chairs flipped over.

But the kid tiptoed through, sliding down the corridor and straight to the danger. The screen focused on the kid, his face clear and it less blurry than it was outside the building. The kid knelt next to a glowing crystal bomb. It lit up the kid’s face for a brief moment.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Slender body frame. Short. Jawline strong.

Harley sat up. The apple in his hand forgotten. His eyes peered at the television. He knew this kid.

“Who’s that?” Harley asked, pointing at the screen. The kid in the screen started to punch the hood into a shape with his bare hands. “That kid. Who is he?”

There was an awkward, somber pause. Then, Jack cleared his throat. “That would be, um, Peter.”

“Peter who?”

“Parker.”

Harley rummaged through his head. Peter Parker. Peter Parker. Peter Parker. The name didn’t sound familiar. But the face did. Harley searched his memories. He never recalled seeing a boy in Reynolds’ team. It only had four people. They originally had six, but two were—

Oh. _Oh_!

“What happened to him?” Harley asked, because something happened to him. Or else, Harley would know Peter.

Luke and Jack shared a grimaced expression, both almost begging the other to tell him. Must have been bad if they didn’t want to talk about it.

Luke bristled in his seat, arms crossed. “He died.”

“When?”

“Way before your time.”

Harley’s brows drew forward, questioning and contemplating. He checked the screen again. Right as the alien bomb exploded, he watched Peter Parker throw himself on top of the homemade shield surrounding the bomb. The explosion went off, the homemade shield spared them all.

The simulation dissolved, leaving the team in the middle of an empty, white room. Peter Parker stood. He faced against his teammates and Reynolds. The casualties listed. The screen froze. Peter Parker’s face was clear to see.

Harley studied it. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Height. Body figure. Jawline.

“Are you sure he’s dead?”

Jack shot up to his feet. A frown deepening on his normally happy face. “Yes,” he said, and he went to shut off the screen.

Harley stopped him. “Wait! Just… hold on.”

He got up from his seat and stood right in the middle of the television, eyes locked on Peter Parker’s face. He studied the boy, examining him from head to toe, memorizing the face. Something was familiar to him.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Height. Body figure. Jawline.

“FRIDAY?” Harley called. “Can you rewind a bit, and turn up the volume so that I can hear?”

FRIDAY rewound the recording. It played. Harley listened. Eyes pinched in concentration as he tilted his head to the speakers to hear a soft, troubled voice speak.

The recording stopped again.

Harley thought.

Luke and Jack shuffled behind him, irritation growing at his nuances. “Can we turn it off now?” Jack begged. “We proved our point. We beat the old simulation, so you can shut up about it now. Right?”

Harley didn’t answer. He only asked a follow-up question. “Who is he? This… Peter Parker?”

“A dead kid,” Luke huffed, his footsteps thundering over to Harley. The man clicked the screen off and Harley lost Peter’s image. “That’s who he is.”

Those angry crevices came back to Luke’s face. A deep, entrenched frown that brokered no more silly questions. The movie was over.  

Luke pulled Harley from the screen. “You should get some sleep,” he grunted.  “You’ve been up more than twenty-four hours anyway.”

Harley dug his heels into the floor. “I’ve seen him.”

“Who?” Jack was perplexed. “Peter?”

“Yeah, yeah… it was him!” Harley recognized the boy in the video. The similarities were there. He couldn’t stop comparing. The hair, eyes, shape and even voice all matched to him. That damn traitor! “He’s the traitor! He’s… he’s the one who sabotaged my mission!”

Jack and Luke blankly stared at him for a minute, and then their faces darkened. They were no longer humored by him. Done with all the smiles and niceties.

“You need to sleep,” Jack scrutinized, his tone disapproving of the continued discussion. “Go to bed, Keener.”

“No! You don’t—I saw him!”

“Stop it.”

“No—it was him! He’s alive!”

“Shut up!”

Harley refused to be quieted. He shouted to FRIDAY. “Tell Reynolds I know who it is,” he ordered the AI. “Tell him I found the traitor.”

“Are you nuts?” Luke fumed, charging up to Harley. His eyes round with incredulity. “You’re making yourself a fool! The kid’s dead, Harley! Dead! Don’t you get that?”

“I know what I saw!” Harley countered, becoming more resentful that no one believed him. “I saw Peter.”

“You saw someone who looked like him,” Jack corrected. “He has one of those faces… easy mistake. But, Harley, man… Peter’s dead. Okay? Dead. There’s no way you saw him. It was someone else.”

Harley furiously shook his head. “No. I saw _him_. Not another person. Or a doppelgänger. Him.”

Luke threw his hands up in the air. “I’m done. I’m not going to listen to this shit. I’ve had enough.”

He stormed to the doors, floor quaking at each stomp. Jack gravely shook his head at Harley, like he told them an insulting joke. But it wasn’t a joke. He wasn’t screaming for attention. He saw Peter Parker. Alive. And telling everyone all their secrets.

When Luke nearly reached the doors, it opened and Reynolds strolled into the room. His eyes found Luke’s first before it bounced to Jack and finally landed on Harley. The captain blew out a breath and closed the door behind him, sealing them all inside the lounge.

“Okay… what’s going on?” Reynolds questioned his team.

Luke said nothing. Jack made a vague shrug, but Harley spoke aloud.

“Sir! It’s Peter!” Harley shouted, leaping around Jack to reach Reynolds. “Peter Parker is the traitor. The one who attacked Strike team. The one who told Jones everything about the Hole and the CID.”

Reynolds stared. He gave no acknowledgment that he even heard Harley. A sharp inhale followed, the man’s eyes went from Jack to Luke for some kind of explanation or rebuttal. When Jack gave another mild, exasperated shrug, Reynolds turned to Harley with an impatient look.

“You’re mistaken, Keener,” Reynolds bit in reply. “It couldn’t have been Parker. The kid’s dead.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Reynolds tersely responded, eyes flashing in irritation. “Parker was kidnapped and murdered three years ago. Magic killed him. It’s why we updated the simulation test. Why we teach our new recruits how to deal with those who can perform hocus pocus.

“His death is a tragedy that still haunts us,” Reynolds went on, his tone hard and unforgiving. “So, no—you’re wrong. Again.”

“Oh? So you saw his body then?” Harley challenged.

He held his glare as if daring Reynolds to counter his claims. Harley knew what he saw. He saw that boy, albeit, more haggard and underfed than on the screen. Nonetheless, it was Peter who he met at the plant and later, in the alleyway.

Reynolds scowled, but he didn’t say anything. No denial or confirmation. Only indignation that Harley was poking holes through his belief. Harley smirked. He was right. There was no body. That meant he could possibly be telling them the truth.

“I’m telling you that is who I saw,” Harley asserted, drawing up against Reynolds. “I saw Peter Parker last night. Alive, not dead.”

Reynolds’s lips pressed into a thin line, belaying whatever displeasure he had against Harley’s allegation. There was truth though. Harley knew the captain noticed. The doubt pooled into his mind, muddling his beliefs.

And it appeared both Jack and Luke noticed Reynolds’s sudden hesitance. That flicker of falter that teetered into believing Harley’s words.

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?” Jack asked Reynolds, unconvinced by Harley’s insistence. “Peter’s dead! Everyone said so.”

“But did anyone see a body?” Harley countered Jack’s claims. “Did you? What about you Luke?”

Luke’s nostrils flared in his response.

Harley swung back around to Reynolds. “I know what I saw.”

Reynolds remained quiet as he digested what he was told. He thought about it, contemplating the evidence presented with what he already knew. What he believed to be true. There was a tentative acceptance to trust Harley’s assertion. Just a little.

“I’ll speak to a few others about it,” Reynolds decided after a long moment.

Harley beamed with pride while Jack and Luke expressed outrage. “C’mon Captain!” Luke growled. “It’s bullshit!”

“You told us that Peter was dead,” Jack followed up, nearly shoving Harley aside. “Now you’re saying he isn’t? Because he said so?”

Harley was offended. Why did his word mean little? They were his teammates. He never lied to them or anyone. Well, except to Jones and the other rebels.

Reynolds let out a heavy sigh. “There’s a lot of weird in this world,” he said to them. “Out of respect, I have to at least follow-up on it.”

“But, sir—”

Reynolds held his hand up. “I know, I know, but if there is an ounce of truth…”

The captain left his sentence to hang in silence, but the other two understood the message. Granted, they looked upset by it all. Luke and Jack couldn’t even look at Harley.

“If you excuse me,” Reynolds said to the group. “I need to address the situation.”

He grabbed the door handle to exit, but looked over his shoulder back to Harley. “Don’t go anywhere. Someone may want to talk to you more.”

Harley nodded his consent and smiled. Finally—people were listening to him.

Unfortunately, his happiness was not shared. Luke and Jack glared daggers at him. They looked at him with repulsion. All the friendly demeanor gone, replaced with soldering anger.

“I wouldn’t get too happy if I were you,” Luke warned as he wretched the doors opened.

Harley cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jack walked passed him towards the opened door. “Because you don’t want to be wrong.”

With that last ominous warning, Jack and Luke disappeared.

Whatever, Harley thought. They were jealous that he could be right in uncovering a lie. Peter Parker faked his death, gone underground and assisting rebels in taking down their regime. If anything, they should be thanking him. It wasn’t he who lied to them. Peter Parker lied to them. He betrayed his teammates. Harley didn’t. Harley wouldn’t ever do that.

Whatever, Harley thought again. Once he’s proven right, they’ll apologize and thank him.

* * *

Harley sat in the office for a long time. 

He was alone, sitting on the couch that Reynolds dropped him off before he disappeared again. He was told to wait there, and so he did. Hours passed. Maybe two or a little more. The minutes ticked by and all Harley's thoughts were preoccupied by the sudden recognition of the boy from the video. He kept visually comparing the boy in the video to the destitute in the alley. When he declared the boy from the video as the same who interceded in the mission, a flurry of concerns, doubts and shocks riddled those around him. They looked at him like he was a delusional idiot—which he wasn't. But, Harley knew who he saw in the alley, and it looked eerie similar to the boy in the video. 

The doors to the office flew open, startling Harley. Two people strode in: Reynolds and... Happy Hogan. 

Harley rose to his feet, but Happy shot him down. The man rummaged through his jacket's inside pockets. Seconds later, Harley was faced with a head-shot picture of a brown-haired, brown-eyed boy. The same face he saw in the simulation video.

Beyond the photo was Happy Hogan's firm, disconcerted face. The man's eyes went tiny, zeroing in on him with judgment and little patience. "Look at the photo," he commanded. Harley glanced back to the image. "Is this who you saw? At the old plant?"

Harley answered with a nod.

Happy wasn't convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Give me a percentage!" 

Harley flickered another glance at the photograph. "Erm... I don't know," he mumbled. What was the man's deal? "Uh... eighty—ninety-one percent."

Happy removed the photograph from Harley's face. The bodyguard turned away, a hand rubbing his forehead, frazzled by Harley's responses. Harley heard the man take a few deep breaths before he turned to Reynolds. 

"If this is some kind of—"

"Harley is one of the best agents we have," Reynolds interrupted, to which Harley straightened up in his seat when mentioned. Damn right he was! "If he claims he saw him... Look, I brought it to your attention—"

"I'm not the one you need to worry about," Happy hissed. "Okay? He's on his way here right now and if you're wrong—"

The doors burst opened again, startling Harley once more. He twisted in his chair, looking over his shoulder to see who joined in their bickering interrogation. 

A combustion went off within Harley. A great, big grin drew up on his face as his eyes widened at the newcomer.

Tony Stark!

Harley scrambled to stand up to his feet while Reynolds and Happy stood attention at their boss's entrance. Tony strode across the room. His normal three-piece suit was replaced with dark jeans, a wrinkled, graphic tee and a sport jacket that looked haphazardly thrown on. The man's hair spiked and flattened in different spots on his head, and his normally groomed facial hair was unkempt. His chin had thick patches on his signature goatee design, but the surrounded areas were shadowed with a grizzle. The man didn't shave in the last twelve hours. Skipped it, which Harley never believed the man would ever do. Tony Stark always went everywhere well-groomed and dressed to woo and awe the crowds. 

Instead, the impeccable Mr. Stark looked bushed, ragged like he hadn't slept in days and fueled only on caffeine. 

Tony gave one quick glance at Harley and flapped his hand at him to take a seat while he bypassed Happy and Reynolds to stand in front of the desk, in front of Harley.

Harley sat down, fingers knuckle-braced on his knees as his eyes darted between Happy and Reynolds to Tony's surprised appearance. Harley's whole body bubbled in excitement. He couldn't believe it! Tony stood right in front of him. He'd thought Tony was in Europe, working in establishing the World Order Council. How did the man get back to the States so fast? He only reported to Reynolds a few hours ago about the traitor’s identity.

Happy Hogan stepped up to Tony. "Hey, uh, Tony? The kid thinks he—"

"Uh-uh," Tony wagged a finger at Happy's face and his other hand snatched the photograph from the bodyguard. "I want to hear it from him."

The invincible Tony Stark leaned up against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at Harley's seated position. Harley forced himself to remain calm, to breathe evenly and easy. No need to fumble and choke up his words. Not in front of Tony. That would be embarrassing.

He watched Tony lift up the photograph Happy showed earlier. He didn't shove it in his face like Happy did. Tony merely held it at a good distance and asked one question.

"Did you see him? Yes or no."

No eighty percent or ninety-one percents. Or pretty sures. Either one hundred or zero. Absolutes only.

Yes or no.

Harley checked the face one more time. Those brown eyes, the soft, brown curls and fuller cheeks weren't an identical match to the street urchin kid in the alleyway with matted, wild hair and sunken cheeks. Harley's stomach pinched. He flickered a quick glance up to the adults. Each of them carried different, conflicting expressions. It gave Harley pause. What if he was wrong? What if he made a mistake? It was like what Reynolds said earlier. Millions of people matched the description of a Caucasian male with brown hair and brown eyes. What if his muddled, tired mind mistaken the two individuals as the same? What if he gave Tony the wrong information? What if he disappoints him?

Harley quickly double-checked his memories, comparing the photograph to the boy standing in the shadows of the alleyway. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, his imagination proved that he saw the same person. Tam the hair, give the kid food and shine a light in those eyes and… Harley saw the boy in the photograph.  

He breathed out and lifted his gaze back to Tony, mouth pressed in a straight line. “Yes.”

He let it roll from there. 

Tony sharply inhaled. No words came. No outbursts or questions. No flicker of any emotion. He dropped the photograph on the desk and wiped one hand down the jawline. Harley side-glanced to Reynolds and Happy, but the two adults only watched Tony to wait for his response. 

They were all waiting on Tony. 

Tony pushed off from the desk, circling around until his back faced Harley. Hands flat on the desk. Shoulders hunched. Harley heard a few deep, unsettling breaths from Tony. He noticed Tony trembled. Not an arm. Or a leg. His whole body shook.

That cool, wry amused, always conveying life was too short attitude Tony always clutched onto was gone.

Harley flickered an uneasy glance back to Reynolds and Happy. Shouldn’t someone say something? Shouldn’t they… ask what to do? What’s the next step?

Harley parted his lips, ready to speak, but found himself speechless. He didn’t know what to say. What he should say. He didn’t know who Peter Parker was or his significance. All he knew was that they needed to stop him.

Iron Man took another deep breath… and shattered the quiet by hurling everything right off the desk.

Monitors, keyboard, lamps, books, papers, pens and more crashed onto the floor. They scattered out in broken pieces, the office looking disastrous as if swept up in a wind storm.  

Tony slammed his fist on the desk. “Goddamn it!”

Harley jolted out of his seat, heart hammering fast. He had never seen Tony act in such a bizarre manner. Never had he ever witnessed fury behind the man, except against his enemies. It scared Harley, briefly, but scared him enough to be taken aback by the sudden outburst.

Happy and Reynolds barely flinched at the Tony’s temper. Reynolds stumbled a single step back, but remained at attention. His eyes took in the mess with resonating guilty. For what, Harley didn’t now.

Happy, however, was the only one daring to approach Tony. The bodyguard came up beside Tony. He kept a comfortable distance between himself and Tony. No need to infuriate the man more by invading his personal space.

“I thought you said he was dead,” Happy said to Tony.

“I thought he was,” Tony replied. “I thought… FRIDAY? Locate Item 17A?”

_“Item 17A is not found.”_

Harley arched a brow. What was Item 17A?

“Again, FRIDAY.”

_“Boss—I have scanned Earth ten times a month for the past three years,”_ FRIDAY reported. _“Item 17A has not been found. It is out of range or destroyed.”_

Tony let out a shuddering breath. His fingers shook as he combed a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it was.

Happy took a stern look. “What’s going on, Tony?” he asked. “What are you not telling me?”

Tony moved away from the desk, ignoring the mess as he stepped on the loose paper and pens. He stopped right by the window, looking out at the sun rising over the canopy of treetops. He lingered there, looking out at the scene while they waited for an answer. Any answer.

There was a shuddering breath. "The wizard must have done something,” Tony said, shaken. “Hidden him or... I-I don't know."

Happy came around the desk. "So... he's alive?"

There wasn't a response for a few seconds. "I guess so."

Happy's expression shifted from surprise to relief to confusion in a bundle of facial twitches. "How did we not know? H-How…” the man struggled for words. “He was out there this whole time? How did we not find him? How did we miss him? All that surveillance and—"

"I don’t know, Happy, okay?” Tony snapped, irritated at his friend’s interrogation. “I don’t know!”

He dragged a hand down his face, confronting the dilemma placed before him. Happy stood in shock, words lost on him as he too contemplated the meaning behind the revelation. Reynolds’s eyes diverted to the floor, faced aghast and surprised.

Only Harley remained unaffected by the news. He looked at everyone, watching them with a bewildered expression. Who was Peter Parker? And how did a street rat kid provoke such strong emotions from every one of them?

Tony began to pace. Eyes twitching in hurried thoughts. He moved from one spot to the next, wearing down a trail into the marble floor. A lot fluttered across Tony’s face. Many thoughts plagued him. Ideas popped and burst. One after another as Tony grumbled incoherent words to himself.

Harley waited, uncertain what to do now. He didn’t know Peter Parker, but based on everyone’s reactions, he was someone with a deep and personal history among all of them. It was hard for Harley to wrap around that idea. The guy he saw in the alleyway was no one of great impression. Harley wouldn’t think twice about him.

But Happy’s pale face and Tony’s panicking, got Harley to believe that Peter Parker was more than meets the eye.

It was another minute or two when Happy pulled himself out of his stupor and looked back to Tony. “What are you going to do?”

Tony slammed to a halt. His arms braced himself, brows tugged into an inquisitive arch, as he stared off for a long moment. He blinked once and turned to Happy. There was a small, complicated smile on his face. An unknown message behind it as he pulled out a pair of colored sunglasses from his sport's jacket. He placed them over his eyes.

Then Tony’s gaze turned to Harley, looking directly at him. “You ready for a bigger mission?”

Harley straightened his shoulders. He puffed his chest out. Ready for duty.

“Yes, sir.”

Tony’s lips twitched upward. “Good,” he said and he snapped his fingers at Reynolds. “Round up the old the gang. We’re going to need everyone on this.”

Reynolds nodded and was gone in seconds, the door shutting behind him.

Happy approached, looking uneasy. “Boss, what are you planning?”

A gentle smile cradled the man’s face, his posture relaxed. 

“I’m bringing him home.”


	5. Word Gets Out

Harley never saw the Compound more alive until this morning.

After Reynolds ran off to round up the “old gang”, everyone bustled in and out of doors. Silent corridors murmured into whispers that turned to rumbles of questions and shock. Strange how Harley never heard the name “Peter Parker” and in three hours, he’s heard it over a billion times. Everyone knew Peter Parker.

Except him.

He didn’t have a clue who Peter Parker was.

Unsure what to do, Harley lingered around Tony. No one dismissed him or ordered him away, so Harley kept to himself and stood off to the side. He listened in on Tony’s conversations with Happy, hoping to get an idea on the significance of this Peter Parker person. From what Harley remembered, the kid wasn’t impressive. Scrawny, haggard and doleful, Harley wouldn’t label him dangerous; and yet, everyone acted like the Compound was on red alert.

Happy stood at Tony’s elbow, listing off who needed to be aware of the situation.

“…and Pepper?” Happy inquired.

Tony faltered. A flash of torment crossed the man’s dark eyes as he sucked in a breath. “Um… let’s hold that off,” he decided at a minute. “I don’t… No need to get her hopes up quite yet. Wait until he’s here.”

Happy nodded as FRIDAY spoke overhead. “Boss—everyone is in the conference room.”

Tony thanked the AI, throwing on his colored glasses over his eyes as he strode to the door. Harley didn’t think the man saw him as he walked passed, but Tony’s voice caught him by surprise when he called out to him.

“Don’t act like a statue, Harley,” Tony ordered as he reached the door. “Keep up.”

Harley jumped in line behind Tony, eager to follow as they left the office. They cruised through the Compound, and Harley noticed passing gazes. People stared. At Tony. At Happy. At _him_. All looking at him with surprise. Or awe. Harley’s mouth twitched upward at the sight of all those bewildered by his association with Tony Stark. He straightened his shoulders and held his head a little higher, mimicking Tony’s strut.

Yeah, he rolled with Tony.

They reached one of the top floors in the Compound, and Harley immediately spied Reynolds standing outside a glass-encased conference room. Already, people seated around the rectangular table, awaiting for the big news.

“All here, sir,” Reynolds informed Tony.

“Great. Good,” Tony commended, and Happy opened the door for all of them to enter.

Muffled voices filtered in Harley’s ear, but they immediately went silent when Tony stepped through the doorway. Harley walked in after him. Everyone fell into a noted quietness as eyes blinked up to them. Harley spotted Jack and Luke immediately. They sat across the table, visibly confused at seeing him again. They still carried their dubious gazes as they watched him take a seat the spare seat against the wall. Harley glanced away from their judging eyes to survey the room. See if he knew anyone else.

He recognized a few. Obviously, Silk Fever and Lady Deathstrike would be in attendance. They were, after all, members of Reynolds’ team. Former teammates of Peter Parker. They sat on the same side as Jack and Luke, looking incredibly bored being dragged to the meeting.

Next, he saw a big man in the back, triple the size of Harley, muscles bulging. He had dark, cropped hair and red-brown eyes that always looked peeved. Harley saw the man around the Compound, but he didn’t know him quite well. He believed the guy’s name was Simon. And next to him was a short statured man with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. The man’s lips were small and tight, almost pinched like he was concentrating on something unknown to everyone else. Harley never seen him before, but he seemed comfortable enough in the room. Like he knew he belonged.

To Harley’s immense surprise, Dr. Reed Richards was in the room. The man hardly ever left the Baxter Building. The fantastic scientist buried himself in his work, never finding a good enough reason to leave. Until now, apparently.

The famed Fantastic Four member walked up to Tony, urgent whispers exchanged. Tony nodded, patting Dr. Richards on the shoulder. Dr. Richards grimaced a little, but retreated back to his seat. Tony uttered out an order to FRIDAY.

“Privacy, please.”

The glass walls shimmered and a black tint darkened the conference room. No one could see in or out.

Harley waited for Tony to address the crowded room, but he didn’t make a move at all. The man slid off to the side, choosing to be a wallflower instead of being the center of attention.

Instead, Reynolds stepped up to the front. “Thank you all for coming,” he started. “I apologize for the rush and secrecy, but it’s vital that everything discussed in this room be handled with discretion.”

Murmurs swept the room, eyes flickering from one person to another in question. A handful even glanced in Harley’s direction, either at him or Tony. Curiosity lurked in their eyes as they tried to piece together what they knew or heard to explain the sudden assemblage.

Reynolds cleared his throat and the whispers hushed.

“It has come to our attention that one of our own is alive.”

A flurry of befuddled looks fell on the people as Reynolds redirected everyone to the wall behind him. One of the tinted glasses flickered and an enlarged hologram of Peter Parker’s head shot took its place. The boy’s dark eyes stared right into the crowd of people, causing a sudden stir. Some stiffened in their seats and others to let out a small, quiet gasp of recognition.

Harley snuck a glance to Tony. The man’s eyes were on the photo. His face pulled a pained look, something solemn in that gaze. A deep quiet resonated within him, a haunted presence in the man’s eyes. Tony drew a long breath, turning his gaze down and away from the boy’s image.

“As of last night, Peter Parker was spotted in New York City,” Reynolds announced to the bewildered group. “Now, I know for many of you, this is quite a shock and—”

“He’s dead.”

The voice that cut through the stunned silence came from a petite, brown-haired woman in the corner. The disbelief and ridiculousness riddled in her voice carried to the front, making Tony frown as he snapped his head in that direction. She looked petrified, like she saw a ghost rather than a hologram. Her eyes turned red and blotchy, glossier too as her face crumbled in a painful confusion.

“He’s… he’s dead,” she repeated, voice trembling. “Th-They killed him.”

Reynolds acknowledged the woman’s declaration with a short nod. “That was the belief,” he regarded, “but that is no longer the case. He’s alive and in New York.”

Another round of murmured questions floated between everyone. A few looked furious by the revelation. Two of them being Jack Harrison and Luke Cage.

“Didn’t _you_ tell us he died?” Jack rudely gestured to Tony, and Harley wanted to wrangle Jack for his brashness.

Tony didn’t take the accusation to heart. The man grimaced as he straightened the sunglasses on his face.

“I was wrong,” Tony admitted to everyone, stepping away from the wall to stand in front of Peter’s photograph. “Three years ago, I was led to believe Peter was kidnapped and murdered. Now—there’s an eyewitness that says he’s alive.”

Jack and Luke’s eyes darted to Harley.

“You mean him?” Luke bluntly gestured to Harley, who squirmed at Luke’s harsh tone. “We are going to take the word of a kid who never even seen or heard of Parker before? Just like that?”

“Exactly,” Tony reinforced and it uplifted Harley’s spirits to hear Tony’s vigorous support. “Harley’s never met him. Never knew of his existence until he came across an old video and identified him as the same person he met last night.

“In fact—Harley?” Tony motioned Harley to join him. “Come up.”

Harley got up and stood beside Tony. Iron Man clamped a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed tight. “Harley, here, is going to brief all of us what happened last night. Here—” Tony brought up a hologram map of Manhattan. “Whenever you’re ready kid.”

Tony stepped away, leaving Harley dead center in front. All eyes on him. Every single one of him waiting on him to speak. Harley gulped. First time he ever had to address a bunch of people all at once. Including Tony.

He was wholly unprepared to give a brief. Hell—he didn’t even know how to work the hologram! But, Tony stood by, watching and waiting. He couldn’t disappoint the man.

“Um… as I confirmed with Tony and, err, others,” Harley’s speech trembled out of his mouth. “Peter Parker was last seen at, um, Geffen-Meyers. By the Hudson. He appears to be in communication with, um, Michelle Jones. And… and he, uh, is dressed like a homeless man.”

The last part elicited a few snickers from the group. It stung a little to know they found him to be a joke. What could he say about Peter Parker? He didn’t know the guy. All he knew was his name, where he met him and who he met with.

He glimpsed over to where Tony observed his performance. The man’s face was inscrutable, but Harley sensed his speech wasn’t what Tony expected. A sense of failure in that observation, even if the man’s face held nothing.

He needed to take control. Confidence. Be a leader, he reminded himself. Think like a leader.

Harley took a few beats to compose himself. He erected his spine and hardened his jaw. “FRIDAY? Can you zoom in?”

FRIDAY diligently zoomed over a precise spot along the Hudson River, near Geffen-Meyers. Harley marked a giant X over the old plant and circled it.

“Okay, this is where I first encountered him,” Harley said, keeping his voice even. “That means he’s in the area. For what reasons, I don’t know. He didn’t say much on that matter. I advise we send a search team to a ten mile radius from the area. We should also start a surveillance team on—”

FRIDAY posted a screenshot of Jones’s ID off to Harley’s right. The AI was already thinking of ahead. In-sync with him like it was with Tony.

“Oh! Thanks Fri—so, um, we should probably keep surveillance on Michelle Jones,” he said, scowling a little at her image. “Jones and Parker mentioned communicating in the past, so she’s our best bet on locating the target.”

Harley paused for questions or contradictions, waiting to know if he was supposed to continue or not. He only received cold, unblinking stares in returned.

Tony gave him a sharp, appreciative nod. “Good, very good,” he said, returning to center stage and directing Harley back to his original seat. “Thank you, Harley. You can sit.”

Harley’s heart sunken a little. Did he do it wrong? His thoughts blacked as he trudged back to his seat, squatting back down. He watched Tony delete Jones’s image and drag the map from Manhattan to neighboring Queens. He zoomed in on the borough, coming right on top of Forest Hills and Kew Gardens area.

“Harley is somewhat correct in his observation,” Tony clarified to the group. “However, Peter is hiding out in Queens. Not Manhattan. This region here,” He air-circled the area around Forest Hills and Kew Gardens, “is our focal point.”

Everyone took notes, studying the map as Tony enlarged it for everyone to see. Harley cocked his head, puzzled as to how Tony narrowed it down two areas in Queens. Harley encountered the boy in Manhattan. Where the hell did he get Forest Hills, Queens?

“Start with the usual: Patrol. Door-to-door. Get local law enforcement involved, but limit details to them. Say he’s wanted for questioning or something,” Tony listed off to the group. “Nothing to get them overexcited. Don’t need them to make an idiotic mistake.”

He waved the hologram map away and replaced it with a picture of another individual.

Harley took a gander, uninterested. Another young boy with dark, beady eyes, a chubby neck and black hair parted center in an unstylish manner similar to—holy shit.

Ned Leeds! Why was his college ID photo up on the screen?

Tony pointed to Simon and the guy next to him with the dark hair, pale complexion and short stature. “Put surveillance on him again,” he addressed the two. “I want a twenty-four hour watch. Phones, computer—anything that can be traced and monitored, I want you to do. Same goes for that Jones girl. If she’s been in communication with Peter, then she’s on the list too.”

The pair gave an affirmative nod.

Tony turned to Reynolds. “Your team will lead on this, but do it subtly,” he ordered. “Don’t need him to recognize anyone and panic. Keep two circling in Forest Hills and two in Kew Gardens. Rotate. Don’t set up shop in the neighborhood. Keep the Tower as headquarters. Try to blend in. Do the normal routine.”

Reynolds nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Tony closed everything down except for the picture of Peter Parker. “The goal is to capture and safely escort him back to the Tower,” he said to the group. “This is your first and only priority.”

A round of affirmative murmurs was heard.

“And avoid apprehending him on your own,” Tony cautioned the group. “If you spot him, report location. Keep him in sight until back-up arrives. This is not a one-man’s job. Everyone clear?”

A rumble of ‘yes, sirs’ followed.

Iron Man exhaled deeply. He removed his sunglasses, kept them tight in his hand as he surveyed the quiet faces of all those before him. Harley included.

“It’s paramount that no one speaks of this to anyone outside this room,” Tony reiterated, his stare hardened as his gaze swept the room. “The world believes he’s dead. Let’s keep it that way until otherwise. Understood?”

Another collection of affirmative consents. They would die with the secret sealed behind their lips. And as Harley muttered his pledge, he looked back to the screen. He knew little of the boy in the photograph. And what he did know, Harley found unimpressive. Nothing screamed dangerous or challenging. Parker knocked out a few SHIELD agents. Big whoop. That’s nothing compared to what most initiative teams do on a daily basis. Hell, Harley bet his entire savings that he could single-handedly capture the Parker kid on his own.

How hard was it to apprehend a scraggily, wayward youth?

Tony dismissed everyone. They all got up from their seats, off to do Tony’s bidding. Reynolds ordered his team to meet in one of the training salles to go over strategy. The petite woman, who wore her mousey brown hair in a tight bun, promised Tony to assist Dr. Cho with whatever was needed before she zipped out of the conference room and away.

Dr. Richards lingered in his chair. A heavy thought weighing his head down so that his chin touched chest. He said nothing. Only nibbled on his bottom lip as the room emptied.

Tony didn’t move either. He stayed, eyes lingering on the hologram.

Harley had to clear his throat to get Tony’s attention. “Hey, um… what about me?” he asked when Tony swiveled his head to him. “What do you want me to do?”

His mentor favored him a small smile as he took both of Harley’s shoulders in his hands. “You have the most important role of us all,” Tony claimed and Harley’s heart fluttered faster than a butterfly’s wings. “You’re going to keep your undercover assignment as a rebel.”

And the wings were clipped.

“What?” Harley balked. “But I—”

“You are the closest to Peter’s friends,” Tony explained, letting his hands fall from Harley’s shoulders to gesture. “You’re our inside man. Our ace in the hole, so to speak. Peter doesn’t know you. His friends think you are on their side. You’re in prime position to find him first before any of us.

“Honestly, you have the best and hardest job out of all,” Tony recognized with a proud smile. “But I have faith you can handle it. You’ve been doing great so far. I’ve read some of your reports. Great stuff.”

Harley couldn’t stop the heat rising to his cheeks. He ducked his head and muttered, “Thanks, Tony. That means a lot.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony commented and he swiped a finger underneath Harley’s chin, getting him to look up. “And, look, when this is all over, you’ll be rewarded handsomely. Beyond your wildest dreams! Anything you want. Anything! I promise. Okay?”

Beyond his wildest… Everything he ever wanted…

Harley pictured the miniature version of an Iron Man suit. Saw himself flying around with Mr. Stark, taking out bad guys together. He imagined them in the workshop together, tinkering on their respective suits, Harley demonstrating his new upgrades and inventions. Tony being proud and complimenting him as the next ‘Mechanic’.

Dreams that could turn into reality if he kept doing his job a little longer.

Harley returned the smile. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Tony repeated with a tinged of a smirk. “Happy and I need to talk privately with Reed here, so… I need you to go back to your double life pronto.”

Harley nodded diligently. “Right. I’ll leave now. Head back to Queens,” he said, thinking what he can do. “Meet up with Ned. Ask him—”

“No, no, no,” Tony shook his head to all of Harley’s suggestions. “Reynolds said that you told this, um Michelle Jones girl you were going to hide up at your mother’s house until the weekend. So, you can’t go back until Sunday.”

Oh. That’s right. Damn it.

He couldn’t miraculously returned to Queens today. He had to keep up with the self-exile for “protection reasons”. Not that Harley minded. Staying in the Compound and hanging out with Tony sounded far more enjoyable than returning to his dumpy apartment in Queens. He hoped to use the extra time to showcase his designs to Tony, impress the great Iron Man. Hell—maybe even start working on the Iron Man suits together like Tony promised?

“No, yeah, of course. Makes sense to keep up the ruse. I don’t mind chilling here. I have a way better bed here,” Harley joked. “So, um, hey, maybe I can show you my—”

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean…” Tony sighed, shoulders collapsing a bit. “I mean you need to go to your mom’s house.”

Harley’s face fell. “What?”

“To keep up the ruse,” Tony illuminated for him. “Can’t have someone following up and discover you were never there. You gotta keep up with your second identity.”

Tony threw an arm around Harley’s shoulder, redirecting him to the door. Still too much in shock, Harley didn’t fight it. His feet moved with Tony as they got closer to the door.

“So, you’ll needed to pack some clothes from your room here and head on out. Tonight at the latest,” Tony decided. “In case someone tries to reach you at your mothers—which, by the way, how is she doing?”

Harley pressed his mouth down. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know.”

He hardly talked to his mother. He only called out of courtesy, a polite attempt to keep familial ties, and to keep her inform of Harper’s education, which he was responsible for. Otherwise, they didn’t talk at all.

“Then this is a good time to check in on her,” Tony suggested, not noticing the slight wince that escaped from Harley’s lips. Tony knew of their broken relationship, but he always advised Harley to not forgo it. She was his last parent, even if she was shitty parent to him. “I’m sure she misses her only son.”

“Not as much as she should,” Harley uttered, sullen.

Tony’s hand squeezed a little hard on Harley’s shoulder. “Hey, c’mon. I know you and your mother don’t see eye-to-eye on things, but I’m sure she misses having you around,” he said, attempting to sound encouraging. “Think of it as a chance have some quality one-on-one time with her. Reboot your relationship. I regret never getting the chance to do it with my dad. After all, you only have one parent. Well, two parents, but you get what I mean. Use this little vacation to reconnect.”

He rather reconnect with Tony than his mother. There was no hope of reconciliation with his mother. Dissipated long ago. At least with Tony, he would receive praise and some kind of familial affection. His mother’s pastime revolved around degrading him whenever she had the chance. Not that he bristled at her remarks, but it grew tiresome after the first attempt to bring him down to her level.

Harley heaved a long sighed. “Can’t I stay here? No one’s going to check after me,” he insisted, before he enlarged his eyes and pulled his shoulders close. “Please?”

He peered up at Tony, flickering up puppy dog eyes. Hopeful and pleading to get Tony to change his mind.

Tony chuckled. “Those puppy eyes still don’t work on me, kid,” he said, playfully patting Harley’s cheeks. “And if it makes you feel any better, no one here is going to be resting. Everyone will be busy. Working. No fun here.”

“What makes you think I’ll be having fun at my mother’s?” Harley groaned as they reached the door. “C’mon, Tony. Let me stay. I’ll work. I can join Reynolds and the others to—”

“Appreciated, but not necessary,” Tony cut him off as he opened the door. “Need you to keep up appearances and not cast doubt among your Resistance pals.” He saw Harley’s disappointed face. “Hey—chin up, okay? It’s only for three days. You’ve survived for much longer.”

Harley blew up a huff of air. “Yeah, I know, but I’d rather stay here though.”

Tony bobbed his head in agreement. “Same here, Harley. But, we all have our jobs to do, and yours is the most important one,” he said with a beam of pride that warmed Harley’s face. Then, Tony clapped his shoulder before shepherding Harley out the door. “Now—you better get going. It’s already past noon.”

“All right,” Harley grudgingly accepted his fate, trudging out of the office. “But, if I go insane, I’m blaming you.”

Tony shot him a smirk and ruffled his hair. “As do most people,” he cracked. “I’ll talk to you later, kid. Remember—talk to your mom. Reconnect.”

And Tony shut the door, leaving Harley to stare at his own reflection in the dark glass.

A few, short hours later, Harley found himself staring at a peeling, splintered door, standing on a rickety porch on a quiet street in a suburban town. His fingers kept tensing, curling into his palms as he readied himself to take the final leap. All he had to do was knock. One knock or two. Easy peasy.

God—he’d rather be dead.

Harley cursed under his breath. He raised his knuckled hand. Two hard knocks. That was it. He waited, listening as the floor behind the door croaked and groaned at the shifted weight. The doorknob wobbled and the door creaked open.

His mother answered, a cigarette between her lips. She gave him a long look, a questioning arch of her brow as she waited for him to speak.

Harley hated what he had to say next. “Hi… mom. Can I stay here for a few days?”

* * *

Harley watched the dark sky lightened at the edges of the world from his small window in the bedroom he slept. He pleaded time to go faster. His mind screamed ‘Get me the hell out of here!’

Yet, the world ridiculed him by taking it’s time to wake up to the new morning.

Harley drew out a loud huff. He waited three days for this morning. Three days! Seemed longer. Seemed forever. Now, it was here. Time to go.

And thank god! He didn’t think he could last another day living under the same roof as his mother.

Harley barely restrained his frustrations at his mother. Staying with her for more than an hour was torture. Her glares, sneers and snotty comments irate him enough to consider heading back to New York early. But, he remembered his orders. Tony wanted him to stay with his mother in case the Resistance ever came up to check.

Not that they ever would. None of them knew how to drive. 

He spent most of his exiled existence avoiding his mother. She didn't work during the day, so it was hard to enjoy existence with her hovering around the house. He never entered a room she was in, choosing to either wait or retreat in the spare room that she begrudgingly let him use. And when that failed, he did his best to tune her out, uninterested in her sneering insults and jabs. 

His mother confused him. He never understood why his mother bothered to let him stay or even keep the minimal contact that they have if she despised him so much. Harley had his reasons to be cordial to his mother, but based off her constant derision for him, it was odd that she let him set foot in her home. Maybe it was out of familial duty. Definitely not out of love, though.

Whatever her reasons were, she didn't share. She tolerated his presence enough to let him stay and that was how far her benevolence extended.

Boredom came easily to him. Nothing to do and no one to talk to, Harley spent his hours doing odd jobs around the house. Something to keep him busy and let the time pass faster. Not that it ever did, but he enjoyed his exile better with a wrench in his hand and a hammer in the other. He fixed the loose railing, the squeaking floorboards and the plumbing in the tiny bathroom scrunched between the kitchen and the living room. His mother said nothing about all the fixings. She scrutinized everything he mended. She jerked the railing, flushed excessively and stomped over the replaced floorboards. Nothing appeased her. Not that Harley did it for her approval or gratitude. It was something to do and if his mother insisted Harper spent the holidays with her, then Harley wasn't going to let his sister live in a decaying house. 

Harley checked his window again. The world was tainted a midnight blue, the pitch blackness residing and leaving a murky morning haze over the small street. His bag was already packed. Ready to return to his better life. Ready to hit the streets of Queens and capture the wayward escapee.

He threw the covers off and slipped into his shoes. He quickly fixed the bed and snatched his duffel. Time to go. It was light enough to be reasonable, and his mother would be fast asleep. Perfect escape.

He tiptoed out of the room, avoiding the squeaky floorboards as he shuffled through the house to the front door. His car waiting outside in the driveway. He reached the door. He took the doorknob.

"Where ya going so early?"

Harley stopped. Shit.

He craned his neck over his shoulders sagged as he turned to see his mother at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee warmed her hands as she held it underneath her mouth. Her thinning hair laid in tangles on her shoulder, her rumpled pajamas peeking out from her fastened robe, and she wore the same accusatory glare whenever looking at him. Like it was his fault that her life got fucked up. 

That fault actually belonged to Dad… and herself.

"Um, yeah," Harley said, his voice a bit dry due to a parched throat. He planned to pick up coffee on his way out of town. "Got work to do."

"You mean you got things _Stark_ wants you to do." She always said Tony’s name with disdain.

Harley carelessly shrugged. "I did say work.”

His mother snorted derisively. "That's not work. That's keeping your end of the bargain,” she said with a snide. “Paying up your dues is what it is.”

Not this again. Harley restrained eye-rolling and gripped the straps of his duffle a bit tighter. Whenever she had the chance, she insinuated or outright called Tony Stark the devil. For what reason, Harley didn’t know. His mother never met Tony, and yet, she acted like he personally assaulted and insulted her own existence.

Harley knew Tony. Met him and kicked ass alongside the invincible Iron Man when he was only a child. They were connected. Him and Tony since that night he found Iron Man in his garage.

And their bond remained strong. Tony kept in touch after his stint in Rose Hill. He sent gifts and chatted with Harley over the phone, asking after him and his family. Gave advice when asked, and supported all the decisions Harley made. Tony slid into the parental position, taking up the mantle where his father discarded it and his mother refused to lug around.

Without Tony, Harley’s life (Harper’s too) would have been dismal. No future. No hope. Nothing.

That was why his mother hated Tony. Why she hated him—her own son. Harley went beyond her achievements. Beyond her life. He was better than her.

He looked over his mother again, noting the old, lumpy robe and frazzled hair. The yellow, chipped fingernails from chain smoking and the leathery skin from lack of proper care. Harley had seen the old photographs of his mother. Beautiful and kind, but the powers of youth only lasted for so long. For his mother, it didn’t last very long. When his father hightailed out of their family, his mother surrendered.

She gave up. Harley didn’t.

"Well, that's how work usually goes. You do your part, work hard, and you get rewarded for it," Harley remarked, sardonically raising his shoulders in response to her. "Guess you wouldn't know that though, seeing as you leach off unemployment benefits after working at a job for a week. Always getting fired or quitting when it gets hard, and leaving me to pick up your responsibilities.

“So, don’t start preaching off about things you don’t know anything about,” Harley spat back at his mother. “And lay off of Tony! All right? He didn’t do anything wrong. Hell—if it weren’t for him, we would still be living in that dumpy town. Living off welfare and drinking to death. You should be goddamn thankful to him for pulling your two children out of poverty and giving them a better chance at life!

“But… nope. To hell with him and his generosity!” Harley madly gestured, his tone pitching higher, louder and fiercer. “You can’t fucking stand it that we like him better than you. And honestly—it’s not that hard considering you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself. You chuck responsibility out the window and just cruise through life without taking blame. Everyone else is at fault for your misery. Well, news flash, it’s your own damn fault!”

His breaths were coming out in heated, ragged breaths. “So—stop blaming Tony! Stop blaming me!” Harley’s voice came to a crescendo. “Just… fuck off!”

All that anger that he lashed out dwindled. The final words had an air of finality to them. His last stand. He was done. He released the pent up rage he held over the past few days, and it freed him. Harley felt good. He should have said those all those things years ago.

However, his mother froze. It took a moment for her to process his words. When his words filtered in, her shoulders tensed underneath all those layers. Eyes widened, shocked as a crevice of deep lines entrenched everywhere on her face. She glared, those lips pressed together too tight it almost looked purple. 

"What do you know about responsibilities?" she jeered. "Or about life? What the fuck do you know about hardships?" She shot up from the table, slamming her mug down. "You walk in and act like a big-shot because you have a billionaire backing you, but you wanna know what? That's all you got.

"And when that billionaire don’t need you no more, what's going to happen? Huh?" his mother challenged, arms crossed in a lame attempt to look assertive. "You ain't independent. You ain’t a big, _responsible_ man. You're nothing without him, but Stark is still something without you."

Goddamn mother of the year. 

He rolled his eyes at her, officially done with his mother. He grabbed the doorknob to leave, but his mother wasn’t finished with her rebuttal.

“Ya know I’m right,” she called at his back. “What are you without Tony Stark? Huh? Just a kid with nothing to show the rest of the world. What do you have that’s your own? C’mon, Har! What? You don’t got anything of your own? That’s right. You fucking don’t. You need Stark to be something. To be someone. And isn’t that sad?”

Harley heard cluck her tongue. “He’ll dump your ass the sooner something better comes along. Men like Stark always do,” she warned. “Look at yer dear dad! He did the same thing. Found something better and left us!

“When you’re no longer useful or needed to Stark,” she finished up, all smug at seeing him rattled, “you’ll be crawling right back to me, begging to let you stay.”

“That will _never_ happen.”

Tony was nothing like Dad. Tony left Rose Hill, but he didn’t leave Harley behind with it. He could have. There was no obligation for Tony to stay in contact with him. Yet, Tony did because Tony’s a better man than his two parents combined. He was a parental figure Harley needed and got. Harley was lucky. He was grateful. He was happy to know that Tony wouldn’t abandon him like his parents did.

His mother didn’t think so. “What?” she questioned, her brows raised ridiculously high. “The begging? Or the dumping?”

Heckles rose up on the back of Harley’s neck as he attempted to swallow the outburst scratching at his throat. Moments like these had Harley questioning how he survived seventeen years with her. Moments like these also had Harley swearing to never live with her ever again.

With more strength than necessary, Harley wrenched the door open. “Fuck you.”

And he slammed the door hard behind him.

* * *

Arriving back in Queens was welcoming.

He arrived at his apartment, and got to work. He found a secured message left for him by Reynolds, detailing the objection of his mission. Harley was already aware what he needed to do. Go back to the Resistance and use their connections to Peter Parker to find the rogue. Nothing more to it.

Already, Harley came up with his targeted plan. He wanted to start with Ned Leeds. The boy had looser lips than Jones. Harley could get him talking and confiding the location of Parker’s hideout by the end of the night. That was how naïve and trusting Ned Leeds was.

Harley finished setting up his apartment, making it easy for him to have a secured access to the communication center at the Tower. Reynolds was already there with his enhanced team. They were out on patrols in Queens while Harley endured torture in upstate New York.

When the time came to rejoin the Resistance, Harley hopped onto the subway with newfound excitement. He tapped his feet to expunge the excess energy as he kept glancing up at the route line. The lights blinked under the next stop, the subway car inching its way to Forest Hills.

Harley scanned the car. No one he recognized. Everyone kept to their own business and ignored him, busying listening to their headphones or looking at their phones. Distracted. No one watching him. Not that he planned to do anything, but Reynolds warned him to be careful nonetheless. No toe out of line. Not for this.

When Harley got to his stop, he was the first out the doors. He shuffled his way up the stairs and zig-zagged through the crowd trying to return home from work. Up the stairs and back onto Queens Boulevard. Loud honks greeted him and the congested sidewalks blocked him from an easy getaway. Harley stayed patient. He maneuvered himself off the busy sidewalks, taking short cuts through alleyways and parking lots until he arrived at the deserted church—where the Queens Resistance stationed.

He slipped through the hidden entrance and crept down into the dark. Jones wanted the entrance to always remain dark. She believed it warded off unwanted individuals from locating their secret base. It tickled Harley a little knowing it was pointless. They already knew the location and a patch of darkness wouldn’t scare them away.

His hand found the other latch. Before he lifted it, he knocked three times at three different locations on the invisible door.

A robotic voice echoed around him. “Password.”

Harley sighed. “HK 3 Black.”

A ridiculous identity password, created by Ned’s security system that he placed on the church. Harley waited as the computer processed the message. It took a few more seconds before Harley heard the latch unlock.

Harley pushed the door open and swiftly entered the Resistance main hub. Already, people were at their chairs, doing work or talking to their neighbors. No one noticed him at first, too trusting of the computer system to not fail in its protection. Harley adjusted his bag over his shoulder as he tiptoed away from the door to the back end of the room.

There, seated as he expected, was Ned Leeds.

Harley hurried over, dropping his backpack right on the table they shared. It made a loud enough thud to spook Ned away from the screens to look up. His beady eyes went round and his mouth agape with stunned surprise.

Harley tugged his mouth in to a sly smirk. “Miss me bro?”

“Dude! Oh my god!” Ned never failed to show his astonishment or stunned expressions. He wore his emotions on every part of his body. “Are you okay? Are you still hurting? Oh man—I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. You suffering from head trauma and all that. Broken ribs… oh god… it’s all my fault. I was such an idiot believing that intel and then you got hurt and had to rescue everyone and I just sat here twiddling my thumbs, sending you off to a trap and not even quadruple checking it—”

“Whoa! Slow down. You’re spewing things out,” Harley pulled his chair around and took a seat. “Okay—what are you talking about?”

“I heard those SHIELD agents beat you up,” Ned said. “Hit you pretty hard to do damage.”

Oh. That’s right. He forgot that he faked his brutal attack. Well, not fake. The agents still hit him hard enough to leave a few marks.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he assured Ned, rolling up his sleeves to show his unbruised skin. “Yeah, some bruising and a mild migraine, but… I’m good. All healed up.”

Ned studied him, inspecting for any trance of injuries. When he found none, Harley noticed the boy visibly relaxed. “Oh… oh good,” he sighed with relief. “It’s just Michelle told all of us what happened and you not being here for a few days… I got worried, you know? Thought maybe they killed you.”

Nervous Neddy, Harley thought. Always overwhelmed.

Harley cleared his throat and slowly shook his head. “Well, um, no,” he started, but shared a teased grin. “Got a few punches and a couple of kicks, but nothing worse. We survived.”

“Thanks to you,” Ned stated with a proud grin. “That was quick thinking on your part. For me, I think I would probably just piss myself. Yeah… piss myself and faint. Maybe even play dead, you know?”

Harley scrunched his face up, nose wrinkled. The boy’s nervous were everywhere tonight. “What are you talking about?”

“About what I would do if confronted with a whole team of SHIELD agents or even one of the Iron Fists groups,” Ned elucidated, trembling from an unknown shiver. “Yeah… I think I would play dead and hope they believe it. I’m not much of a fighter. I don’t know how to fight. Hey! Maybe you can teach me? Teach me a good right hook or something? I don’t know much about fighting. It’s called a right hook, right?”

Harley waved his hand to stop the boy’s incessant chatter. “Ned—what the hell are you talking about?” he queried. “What do you mean ‘quick thinking on my part’?”

Ned stared with those enlarged eyes. “Your rescue,” he stated, as if that would clear away all the confusion. When Ned saw Harley lack of comprehension, he tried again. “You know… how you beat up all those agents and got yourself and Michelle out of there. Which, by the way, I’m sooo sorry! I didn’t know! I thought my intel was valid and… I honestly didn’t know. I would never have sent you guys over there if I knew—”

“Shut up, Ned,” Harley interjected and Ned immediately closed his mouth. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to be rude, but that’s not what happened.”

Ned tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“It was som—”

“Harley!”

Elijah Bradley, a stocky, young African American stood beside them, looking down at Harley with concern. His dark eyes scanned over Harley’s face before he too, sighed a relief when he found no visible injuries. He wiped a hand over his bald head, a preference to make himself appear much older than he actually was.

“How you doin’?” Elijah asked. “We all heard you were hurt real bad. You look good from what I can see, but, how you feelin’?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“That’s good. We were all worried here when Michelle told us what happened,” Elijah continued, before his lips slide into a wide smirk. “But, damn! Didn’t know you had it in you! Took out all those agents? You should all give us a lesson on fighting.”

“That’s what I said!” Ned chirped in, to which Harley shot him a scowl.

Elijah playfully punched Harley in shoulder, but Harley wasn’t feeling the gleeful mood. “Well, glad you’re back,” Elijah finally said. “You’re a tough son of a bitch.”

He gave two hard slaps on Harley’s back, making him wince at the contact, before he walked away. Harley stared after him before he roamed his eyes over the rest of the room. Did all these people believed he took out the entire Strike team? All while being injured? How gullible were these idiots?

And why the hell did Jones lie?

Harley swiveled back to Ned. “Look, Ned, that’s not what happened,” he alerted as Ned peaked his brows in curiosity. “I didn’t fight off those agents. I didn’t do any of that shit.”

“But then why—”

“I don’t know!” Harley exasperated. “I don’t know why she lied.”

“Well, maybe she didn’t and you just can’t remember,” Ned suggested. “You did hit your head pretty hard from what Michelle said.”

Harley shot him a dark, uncompromising look. “I didn’t hit it hard enough to forget something like that,” he countered. “I didn’t rescue us, Ned. It was someone else, okay? Someone with dark brown hair, brown eyes, white, kind of on the short side… do you know anyone like that?”

Harley waited recognition to light up in Ned’s eyes. For his mouth to drop and say the name. To divulge everything Ned knew about Peter Parker.

But Ned only stared. “You literally just described half of the population,” he said and Harley internally groaned as he sagged in his seat. Ned squinted his eyes and peered up at Harley’s forehead. “You sure you didn’t get a concussion or something?”

That aggravated Harley enough to snarl, “I didn’t—”

“Hey losers.”

Harley blinked up and found Michelle Jones coming up to their desk. She looked about the same as he last saw her. Messy curls tied away from her face, arms clutching a tablet and her inquisitive, judging eyes staring down at him.

Most people looked away, but Harley refused to do so. And Ned—he grinned at seeing his friend.

“Oh, hey Michelle,” Ned said before gesturing toward Harley. “Look who’s back!”

Michelle slid her gaze from Ned to Harley. “Yeah. I can see,” she quipped. “You okay? Feeling better?”

“Never better,” Harley replied, not blinking. “In fact, I was telling Ned here what happened the other night. You know… what _really_ happened the night at the plant.”

“Ned already knows,” Michelle spoke up. There was no hesitation or even a hindrance in her speech. A perfect lie. “Everyone knows. I told them what happened. You’re a big hero around here now.” She paused for a moment, adjusting the hold on her tablet. “How’s your head by the way?”

Harley’s jaw hardened. “Fine. Perfect.” What was she playing at?

Michelle flashed one of those fake smiles. “Good,” she said. “Then you better start working. I want an update on that CID database. Ned’s been doing a lot of the heavy lifting while you were recovering. Chop, chop!”

She stepped aside and walked away, heading over to where Kate Bishop worked. Ned scooted in his seat, pulling himself closer to his desk to start typing, ignoring Harley’s baffled expression.

“So, I know how to hack into the system, but the problem we are facing is that any bug we put into it would be caught. Their system is highly sophisticated, even by my standards, but I think if we can—”

“Yeah, hold that thought,” Harley said and his zipped out of his chair and to where Jones finished speaking to Bishop. “Hey! Michelle!”

Jones turned to him. “Yeah, Keener, what is it? Is the CID not accepting Ned’s bug again? It might be because the system updates frequently to avoid hacking. We may get access, but we can’t trick it, if you know what I mean.”

“No, it’s not that. Has nothing to do with that,” Harley dismissed as he confronted her. "It’s about why you’re telling everyone that I saved us. I didn't."

"Of course you did,” Jones averred, unflinching in her blatant lie. “You kicked ass. It was super impressive."

Harley gaped at Jones, bewildered how easy she lied to him. "No—I didn't. What... Why are you lying?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I didn't fucking do anything except get my ass whooped," Harley steamed, not amused with this fake alibi. "It was someone else. That friend of yours who can climb—"

Jones's face darkened. Her lips went thin and small as her glare zeroed in on him. "No. You saved us. You saved me. That's how it happened. Got it?"

Harley wrangled a brow up. "Eh... no. Because it's bullshit."

Jones's nose flared as she huffed in agitation of his refusal to play along with her game. He prided himself in knowing he can be a thorn to her side. Nevertheless, he was nearly thrown off his feet when she snatched his wrist and dragged him to the nearest door. She yanked it open and threw Harley inside before following after him and closing the door.

She turned on him. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Me?” Harley reacted with a flair of indignation. “What? Telling the truth is now a bad thing? I thought that was our main purpose here within the Resistance. Exposing lies and telling people the truth?”

“It is!” Jones fired back, her cheeks reddening, “but not in regards to this.”

“This as in… that friend of yours?” Harley questioned and when Jones said nothing, he knew he was right. “Who the hell is he?”

Harley already knew, but he needed more information. Needed Jones to trust him, confine in him. If he can. She was a hard nut to crack.

“Nobody,” Jones breathed. “He’s no one. He doesn’t exist.”

“Bullshit! I saw him! I heard him speak. How else did we suddenly learn about the CID? Huh? Or about the Hole?” Harley knew he trapped her in the corner. And no amount of pivoting or squirming would set her free.

And she apparently knew it too. “I can’t say,” she argued. “It’s for his own protection.”

“From what? Us? Your own team?”

“No,” Jones said, voice suddenly soft and sad. “From them.”

From the Avengers Initiative. From SHIELD. From the Accords. From Stark.

Harley drew out a long, tired breath. He raked his hair with his fingers, acting disturbed or troubled. He hoped the act made him seem sympathetic, get Jones to be more forward with her information in regards to Parker.

“I see,” Harley said after a moment. “Why? Is he some kind of superhero?”

“Something like that,” was all Jones regarded, before that fierceness returned to her mien. “Look—I don’t like lying and I’m sorry I dragged you into it, but it’s best we keep with the story.”

“The falsified story?”

Jones nodded. “Stark and the others can’t know about him,” she insisted, almost pleading for Harley to agree. “No one can.”

Harley was taken aback. She was serious. Most determined about keeping Parker’s identity a secret from everyone. But, Harley couldn’t drop it. Not if he wanted to find Parker.

“I get that you don’t want Stark and company to know,” Harley started as he rocked on his feet, “but what about everyone else? I mean he beat up all those agents! We could use someone like that here at the Resistance. It would be awesome to have an enhanced person on our team. He would be a great asset! Especially if he knows all about Stark’s projects.”

Jones shook her head. “No—no, he can’t have any part in this,” she persisted. “He just wants to be left alone. Not get involved.”

“Didn’t appear that way the other night.”

“He only did it to save us,” Jones reminded him. “But, Harley, I mean it. No one can know about him. Okay? No one! If anyone finds out about him…”

“What about Ned?” Harley inquired, wondering if Ned even knew that Parker was back in the game. “Are you not going to even tell your best friend that you know—”

“Ned knows,” Jones dismissively waved his concern, shocking Harley. He didn’t think that worthless sack of French fries could lie so well to him. Shit, he underestimated Ned Leeds.

Jones continued on, “But, he also knows not to say a word about it. So, that leaves only you.”

Jones stepped right up to Harley, invading his personal space. He wanted to back up, but that would mean ramming his back into a brick wall.

She looked dead center in his eyes. “You didn’t see anyone that night. You fought off those agents and got us out of there before collapsing from a punch to the head,” she recited to him. “You saved us. There was no one else there. Just you and me. Got it?”

With no other choice, Harley nodded.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Got it,” Harley swore himself to secrecy, regretting his decision to go straight into the issue. “I saved us from SHIELD. There was no one else involved.” He refocused back on Jones, expressing a slight, but defeated frown. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Jones replied, drily, as she stepped away. “Good to know your brain is still functioning.”

And with that extracted promise and last remark, Jones exited the room. Harley remained rooted where he stood, his mind whirling with thoughts as he processed over what happened, over what he learned.

Shit. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.


	6. Searching for Peter

Harley swore he was cursed.

Nothing was ever easy for him. Nothing. All of his hard work never fully paid off, forcing him to add extra effort to get things done. Nothing was simply ever handed to him. 

And, tonight proved to be an exceptional example of how cursed he was.

After failing to obtain any information on Peter Parker from either Jones or Ned, Harley was stuck at the Resistance. Overworking, again. He assisted Ned on hacking into the mainframe of the CID system the Avengers Initiative used to “spy on people,” as Jones bluntly stated. It was a pain in the ass, working against his boss, but Harley would alert Reynolds the second he was free from them.

That turned out to be hours later when Harley finally managed to crawl out of that basement and back to the real world. Harley received an encrypted message an hour ago, requesting his immediate presence. Which meant Harley had to go straight to Manhattan. Straight to the Stark Tower to meet up with Reynolds to debrief on today’s events.

It’s not easy to enter Stark Tower. Walking through the front doors was not an option for Harley. His status as a double agent meant he had to enter through an underground passage. The secret passage was created and used after the Battle of New York to allow the former Avengers to enter in and out of the Tower unseen. Access to the tunnel required top level clearance, but luckily for Harley, he got it. Earned the privilege when he secured his position in the Queens Resistance.

For being so late, Harley was surprised to see Stark Tower up and running. A good handful of employees were at their desks, working away, maybe not even realizing that night took over day. Those employees took the Stark Industries motto seriously: Tomorrow Today.

Harley went straight for the elevators, ordering FRIDAY to send him up. The artificial intelligence obliged and the elevator moved upward. He slouched his body against the wall, thinking over what he should report. He didn’t learn anything. Jones made sure of it, keeping everyone in the dark and threatening Harley to keep up the charade of his heroic rescue.

First day back on the job and he failed. Reynolds was going to reproach him, counter any effort Harley made to his defense with “could have tried harder”. He hated that argument. It infuriated him that Reynolds deemed his efforts as laziness.  

Harley spent his elevator ride testing out different arguments, rehearsing in murmured breaths to find the best one. None of them felt right. Sounded wrong or weak. And Harley was certain he wouldn’t win any favor if he insinuated it was Reynolds’ fault for his failure. No, Harley needed to try again. He needed to be correct and sure of himself. He needed the meeting to be quick and painless. No disappointments. No belittling. No blaming.

The elevator kept going up. How far up was Reynolds’ office? “Hey, um, FRIDAY?” he called to the AI. “Are we almost there?”

“We just arrived, Mr. Keener,” FRIDAY’s programmed voice replied.

Sure enough, the elevator slowed to a stop.

“He is waiting in the room at the end of the hall,” FRIDAY said. “Last door on the right.”

He muttered out a ‘thanks’ and followed FRIDAY’s instructions. As he ambled down the corridor to the last door, he checked out New York’s nighttime skyline. Everything glittered in speckled lights, popping right out of the darkness as if to banish it all from existence. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold. Harley imagined not many people had a view like this. Reynolds certainly got a pay raise. Harley had never been this high up in the Tower before. He must be on the 80th floor or something.

He reached the instructed door. Nothing to be nervous about, he reminded himself. He did his job. His duty. All Reynolds needed was an observation report. Like all the million other times he had done it. Just a simple status update on his end. He could do this. Nothing to it. Nothing wrong.

Harley sucked in a deep breath. Be calm. Be confident. Be firm. He’s got this.

He grab the door handle and pushed it open. Go time!

Rather than play it cool and collective like planned, Harley spluttered out a rush of words. “I want to say that while I appreciate your willingness to speak to me so quickly after everything, I—”

Harley stopped and choked back his words. His eyes bulged a little when he saw not Reynolds at the desk, but Tony Stark.

The great Iron Man lifted his gaze from the screen to Harley. A perk of a smile stretching his mouth.

“Keener,” Tony turned the screen off. “Glad you made it.”

Harley blinked, checking that it wasn’t his imagination. Tony didn’t disappear. He was in the same room as Harley and was getting up out of his seat. A true glint of happiness shined in Tony’s eyes as he moved around the desk to Harley.

Harley returned the smile. “Tony!” I-I… I thought I was meeting with Reynolds?”

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the last syllable. “Sent Reynolds home. He’s been up almost seventy-two hours straight. Figured he could use the rest. And, of course, I wanted to speak to you first.”

“Cool,” Harley chirped, until he realized that meant he would be reporting his failure directly to Tony. Trembled fingers rubbed the back of his neck. “Cool… cool, um… did you just get here or—”

Please don’t come all the way down from the Compound to speak on his progress. Oh God! Oh God… please—

“Nah. I came down a couple of days ago to set up the place,” Tony replied, crooking his finger at Harley to join him. “Not many people actually know I am here and I want to keep it that way. I need the world to still think I’m in Berlin and all. Working hard on setting up the WOC. Getting that shindig up and running.”

Tony stepped over to the bar cart, tucked to the side of the office. “You want anything?” he offered. “You’re looking peaky there. What? Playing hide & seek with the sun?”

Harley ambled over to the bar cart. “Kind of,” he answered, thinking of his self-exile at his mother’s house. He scanned the alcohol selection. “Umm… I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“That would be a seltzer.”

“Gin and tonic then.”

Tony prepped and handed him his drink. Harley thanked him and took a sip. Wow! That was some of the best gin and tonic he ever had. He took another gulp. And one more.

“Slow down there, champ,” Tony advised. “Don’t go chugging your way to alcoholism. It’s a bitch to kick.”

“Right, sorry.”

Tony ushered Harley to the sitting area of the office, proffering him a seat on the fine leather sofa chair. Harley sat down, the cushion stiff from never being used. Harley guessed Tony didn’t host many office parties in here. He took a moment to study the layout. The room was spacious, clean and modernistic in style, like most of the rooms in the Tower. For a man with a vast flow of money, Tony chose simplicity over extravagance. Something Harley found odd considering the man own hundreds of flashy cars, dressed in expensive suits and lived like a celebrity.

Tony sat in the chair on the opposite side, sighing as he reclined back and taking a sip of his drink. “Everything fine?”

Harley shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”

“I would say so,” Tony agreed with a wry smile. “It’s past midnight.”

Harley glanced at his phone for confirmation. Damn! It was past midnight. He didn’t mean to be so late. Jones held them overtime. “Oooh man… I’m so sorry about that,” he apologized, looking back to the door. “If you want, I can come back in the morning or afterno—”

“No, no, no,” Tony dismissed with a flimsy wave. “It’s all good. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

The man put aside his glass on the side table, straightening up in his seat. He clapped his hands together, palms rubbing together as he leaned over in his seat with excited attention.

“So?” Tony prompted, head tilted in interest. “How did it go?”

Harley knew what he meant, but answered differently. “My mom is still a piece of shit,” he said. “Wasn’t open to the idea of spending ‘quality time’ with me, but it was mutual.”

The hope in Tony’s face slid off, replaced with a somber regard. He drew up and away, falling a bit back into his seat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s whatever,” Harley took another drink, admiring the crystal craftsmanship of his glass. “I don’t care.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Tony’s face, but the man said nothing. He sniffed, taking a deep breath and then exhaling. “Family’s tough. That’s for sure,” he consented. “It’s why you have friends. They’ll have your back when family doesn’t.”

True. He considered Tony more like family than his own mother. And Tony always had his back. “Yeah, good thing I have great friends, huh?”

Tony flashed a quick grin before a wiggle of his upper lip made it disappear. A nervous tick, but the man kept his composure. “What about your friends in the Resistance?” he inquired. “Any word on Peter?”

And they came back to the very beginning. All that hope and lightness bubbling within him got zapped old, spiraling him back into the tendrils of embarrassment. He couldn’t hide anymore. No more stalling. No more avoidance. Confession time.

He twiddled his fingers, eyes diverted to his shoes as gathered enough courage. “Um, well… you see, I confronted Jones on it,” Harley began, recollecting what he rehearsed earlier in the elevator. “She silenced the whole thing. Fabricated a story about how I rescued her and got Ned not to say a word. She convinced everyone her story was true before I even came back to say my side of things. I tried to tell people that’s not what happened, but I couldn’t get a word in. So, then I confronted Jones, and she threatened me—”

Tony cut him off with a raised hand. “Whoa—slow down there. Your words are slurring,” he said and, once he got Harley’s full attention, continued. “Let me get this straight. What you’re saying is that Miss Jones lied about the other night to protect Peter’s identity. Correct?”

Harley nodded.

“And she threatened you when trying to tell the truth?”

Another nod. That was the gist of how his night went.

Tony scrunched his mouth. Deep, contemplative lines entrenched in his forehead as he stayed silent for a moment. Harley waited for Tony to speak, but the man kept quiet, kept rubbing his left wrist. Tony’s attention was elsewhere, ignoring Harley’s presence at the moment as the man contemplated.

The stillness heckled his nerves, forcing him to empty his drink in one gulp. The cool liquor slid down his throat, numbing his nerves a little more. He wished he had more. A fuller glass to calm his racing thoughts.

As the silence stretched, Harley uneasily shifting in his seat. Tony hadn’t said a word for a long time. The man’s face remained embedded with pensive grooves that took years off the man’s life. Already, wisps of grey hairs touched the sides of Tony’s head, and crow’s feet became more prominent by his constant languid eyes. The man worked too hard. He stretched himself too thin in trying to rebuild the world and protect it. Harley seen Tony work nonstop, always moving, always building, and always talking to anyone who had problems. Tony did his best. Harley only wished he had done more to help. To bring less than a burden on Tony’s lap.

The man already had enough burdens to carry for the world.

Another minute ticked passed. No response yet, so Harley cleared his throat as a distraction. It worked. Tony’s eyes flickered back to him. The man drew up in his seat, releasing a heavy breath as he conceded with whatever battle he had with his thoughts.

“Well, that was somewhat expected,” Tony said with a more hopeful submission. “At least it upholds your claim. Peter is alive, and Miss Jones and Mr. Leeds knows. We can work off that.”

“We can?” Harley didn’t see how. Not after Jones’s refusal to confess the truth and Ned pretending to be deaf and dumb. “How? I mean, Jones won’t say a word and Ned… well, I can get him speaking like a canary, but it will take a few days—“

“Leave Ned be,” Tony ordered as he wiped a hand along his jaw, frowning in thought. “No—what you’re going to do is stick close to both Jones and Ned. Be their right-hand man. Their best friend if you have to.”

Harley blanked at the order. “Are you serious?”

“Only when I’m not joking.”

Harley clutched his glass a bit tighter. “But… they aren’t going to help,” he said, wondering how Tony did not understand. “Jones won’t—”

“I know. I know,” Tony dismissively acknowledged before continuing on with his reasoning. “But Peter is still in communication with those two. Meaning, they will see him again. He’s already met you, so most likely there’s a good chance you’ll meet him again. Especially if Jones and Ned think you are trustworthy and loyal. A good friend of theirs.”

Harley shook his head. “No, Tony, no way. They won’t,” he argued. “I tried!”

“To an extent,” Tony countered, his expression sharp. “Don’t be naïve, Harley. They were never going to tell you anything about Peter. But… if you can earn their trust, prove your loyalty, then there’s a better chance of you being introduced to him.”

Or no chance, Harley thought and truly believed. He knew Jones better than Tony. Jones trusted no one. Not even members of her own team. Only Ned Leeds, and that guy was too afraid of Jones to speak out against her. No amount of trust or loyalty would ever be enough for Jones to trust him.

“Look—I think we should be direct,” Harley began to counter the plan. “Capture the Resistance. Stage an attack or something. Parker will come if he thinks they need help.”

Tony’s expression creviced in abhorrence. “No. No, no—we’re not doing any of that!” he rejected. “Don’t need to raise the number of casualties. Stick with the original plan, okay? Be the good solider and a better friend. The best course of action for you to find Peter.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a debate, Harley. Do as I tell you!” Tony got to his feet. The man’s shadow loomed over Harley. “Think you can do that?”

Harley pinched his lips shut to prevent the argument lashing about in his mouth from erupting. No need to provoke Tony. Iron Man looked annoyed at his protests. Harley didn’t want to complain, but he was tired of his prolonged undercover assignment. He wanted to finish things quickly, especially now that it required capturing a rogue. An enhanced rogue who was working alongside the Resistance and spilling Avengers’ secrets. The faster they find him, the better.

Tony pick up his glass before he pointed at Harley’s hand. “Done with that?”

Harley passed his empty glass, stuck in his seat at the mere thought that he had to coddle alongside Jones and Ned. Not that he minded Ned, but to suck up to Jones? He rather be dodging bullets.

The glasses clank against the metal tray where Tony settled them. The man was moving again, heading back over to his desk. “Did anything else happen?” Tony asked, lifting a brow up at where Harley sat. “Anything useful?”

Harley had to think. “Um… no,” he said, pushing himself up from the seat. He totted a little closer to the desk. “Nothing, err… useful. Just that, um, he didn’t want to be found. Something like that.”

Tony slowly bobbed his head as his mouth pinched to one side. “Right,” he said, turning back to his screens with eyes glazed with blue light. “Well… thank you, Harley. You did great.”

Awkward silence followed. Harley didn’t think he did great. Hell—he knew Tony was disappointed. The tension in the man’s jaw, the strained pinch of his gaze and the few, long huffs of frustrated air made Harley keenly aware of Tony’s perturbed mood. The man smiled at him when he walked in, and now, the man dismissed him.

The rejection stung. Hurt enough for Harley to feel an ache in his ribs. Slowly, he slipped his feet behind him, scooting back towards the doors. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.

Harley cleared his throat, solemn. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to utter. “I’ll let you get some sleep now.”

He pivoted on his heels, heading back to the door with hurried steps.

“Wait… Harley—stop, please?”

Harley stopped. Deep breath, he turned around to Tony, noticing Iron Man’s fatigued awareness. It got Harley to wonder how long the man has been up.

Tony fully looked upon Harley. “I mean it, kid. You did great,” he said, throwing up a smile that didn’t quite reach those haunted eyes. “I know it’s not easy with what you’re doing, but… I appreciate it. Really. If it weren’t for you, I… well, I probably would be broken.”

Harley cocked his head. “You’re not broken.”

“Wasn’t fishing for compliments,” Tony gently rebutted, “but it’s nice to know I don’t look as messed up as I am on the inside.”

“Tony—”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m complimenting you,” Tony paused for a moment, head tilted in thought. “What happened on that day—when everything changed—I...I became nothing more than a broken hope and an empty promise.”

Harley lurched forward, eyes wide. “That’s not true!” he proclaimed. “You’re Iron Man!”

“Yes, but Tony Stark is human,” Tony reminded Harley in a small, tired voice. “There are things I—”

Harley tilted his head forward for Tony to go on, explain, but the man stopped and gave a little shake of his head.

“Never mind,” Tony said, still holding that fake smile. “Just know I appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve made me hopeful about the future again.”

A corner of Harley’s lip curled up a smile. Cheeks flushed a warm, rosy color. “Thanks, Tony,” he said, straightening his back. “And, honestly, you’re not broken. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve done so much for everyone. Including me.

“Besides, you’re a mechanic,” Harley said, shooting Tony an amused smirk. “You can fix it or… build something else to make you stronger.”

He saw the flicker of recognition glow in Tony’s eyes. They both remembered the night. The time Tony panicked and Harley pulled through for him, giving him the strength to overcome his fears and anxieties to stop the bad guy. To stop the world from falling apart.

But the fondness at the memory didn’t last as long as Harley wished. Tony’s eyes darkened once more, the small smile sagging again.

“Not everything, but maybe,” Tony conceded after a few seconds of reflection. “One day, I suppose. In the future.”

Tony brought up another screen. Harley took a peak and saw what appeared to be a spider design. Was that HYDRA’s logo? No, that was an octopus skull. Who had a spider as its mascot?

“I’ve got some work I need to finish up here real quick,” Tony said, mildly gesturing to the screens. “And I know for certain it’s passed your bedtime. Go home, Keener. Get some of that much needed rest for your beauty or else you’ll get grey hairs early one.”

Harley snorted at the man’s attempt at humor. “All right, but only if you promise to go to bed in an hour then,” he said. “Because that’s how long it’ll take me to get back home by cab.”

Tony mockingly considered, rocking his head side to side. “Okay—deal,” he agreed. “Now—skedaddle there, buckaroo.”

Harley bounced on his toes. “Good-night Stark!”

“G’night, Keener.”

Harley squirmed with delight as he hurried to the elevators. He made Tony hopeful again. He brought hope to Tony. Hope about the future. Of the future. Harley burst into a grin, darn pleased with himself.

He definitely walked a little taller that night.

* * *

One day passed. One week followed. One month went. 

And still, no sign of Peter Parker. 

The fervor at the beginning weaned. All the excited whispers faded and the dedicated determinism deteriorated upon each passing day with no results. Patrols came up empty. Law enforcement gathered nothing. No one could find the elusive Peter Parker. 

Harley did as Tony instructed. He remained the dutiful, loyal and hard-working fighter for Jones’ band of misfit traitors. He kept up the banter with Ned, argued strategies with Jones and shared a few beers with the team on nights when the day was the hardest for them.

At each Resistance meeting, Harley hoped for a slip-up from either Ned or… no, just Ned. Jones was a tough nut to crack. Never gave anything away. Thoughts, emotions or even a smile, she never expressed anything. All concealed behind her deadpanned stare.

Not that Harley got much from them or the rest of the Resistance. Most of his time was spent on helping Ned bug the CID system, to which he reported back to headquarters for them to dismantle it. On a handful of occasions, he joined Jones in scouting out the Baxter Building. True to word, it was impenetrable. The security set up around the building was difficult for people even with clearance to enter. It didn't deter Jones though. She only considered it as a challenge. 

After his nights with the Resistance, Harley traveled to the Tower. Since the first visit, Harley expected to debrief with Tony, but Iron Man vanished, replaced with Reynolds. The good captain wanted quick updates, and the meetings lasted at most ten minutes before Harley found himself shuffled out the door.

“Gotta lot of things to do, Keener,” Reynolds normally finished their briefs together. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Report anything important.”

But nothing ever happened. Nothing in regards to Peter Parker. The guy never made another appearance since that night Harley met him. A rumor spread amongst the task force that he made it all up. Pretended to have found Peter Parker to gain Stark’s attention.

Bullshit! Harley would never stoop so low as to lie. Not to Tony. He wouldn’t hurt Tony like that. Ever! And what attention? He already had Tony’s attention. Tony was his friend, unlike the other agents who were simply employees. The man cared about it, looked after him and his sister. He went beyond as a boss and became family. Harley’s father-figure. There was had no need to create an elaborate lie, involving a long-forgotten nobody.

And Peter Parker was forgotten. Dead, buried and moved on, until Harley caught onto the lie. If anything, Harley uncovered a hoax. One that threatened to topple their whole operation, endanger civilians and the world peace they’re establishing after the Decimation.

Unable to gather intelligence through Jones or Ned, Harley conducted a bit of his own research on the enigma Peter Parker.

Accessing information on Parker through FRIDAY's servers were still impossible. Every effort Harley made to get ahold of the file resulted in resistance and outright rejection from the AI. FRIDAY repeatedly alerted him that he did not have the credentials to access the files. Which meant Harley was not Tony Stark. 

Harley pouted out his lower lip, brows slanted as he stared at the unreadable file. Curiosity grew within him as he pondered the reasons why Tony sealed the file. Why was Tony the only one allowed to open it? It seemed ridiculous for a dead man’s file to be highly classified, especially when said-dead man was alive and a traitor.

Who was Peter Parker to Tony Stark?

Unable to access the file left Harley seeking Reynolds for information. After all, Reynolds was Parker’s former instructor and captain. The man probably knew Parker the best out of everyone.

Unfortunately, Reynolds denied Harley’s request. "Don't worry about it. Your job is to find him. Not study him."

Harley argued that knowing more about Parker would assist in locating their target, but Reynolds still refused.

It left Harley to rely on second-hand knowledge from the first meeting back at the Compound, and Google.

He typed Parker's name into the search engine. Too many results. 267,000,000 links weren't going to be helpful. He needed to narrow it down. Harley added “Queens” into the search and restricted the timeline to about three years ago. That immediately lowered the number of results. Harley scrolled through the findings, spotting an image of what looked like a school picture of Parker to a news link.

Harley clicked it open.

He read it carefully. It wasn't anything new. The article reported a brief summary on the missing Queens teen found dead. It ended with no leads. Probably because the Avengers and SHIELD didn't want people to fret over dangerous wizards and magic. 

Harley opened the next news link. Again, it was the same. A blur about Peter Parker's disappearance and the discovery of his body with multiple stab wounds. Harley scrunched his brows in curiosity at that odd tidbit. Why was Parker stabbed? Wizards used magic to kill. Unless it was some sort of cursed athame or whatnot, but Harley remembered the wizard from the training simulation using magical, gold-colored mandalas. Not crafted weaponry. He scribbled a note to ask Reynolds about it. Or Tony. Whoever he saw first.

He read another article about a robbery gone wrong and an obituary of another Parker. The death wasn't newsworthy and it involved a guy named Benjamin. He ignored it.

There weren’t any more articles in regards to Peter Parker. Neither his life nor death grabbed national attention. Far deadlier catastrophes and celebrity gossip buried the murdered teen into obscurity. It mattered not that another teen died in the hoods of Queens. There were tons of young boys being killed that one more wasn’t a shocker. At least, that was how Harley interpreted the news articles.

He eventually scrounged up Peter Parker’s small obituary, submerged deep within the internet. It listed Parker’s final burial ground to be in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. While it seemed an odd place to look for an alive person, Harley figured that since all the other locations yielded nothing, but emptiness, he would go to scope out the grave. See if anyone stopped by and maybe that individual knew of Parker’s secret hideout.

* * *

It was a late Saturday afternoon when Harley ambled down the pathways of Green-Wood Cemetery. It was massive by Brooklyn standards. Headstones, flush markers, mausoleums and monuments dotted the sweeping landscape. Thousands rested in the ground, dead and buried in close proximity with each other that Harley wouldn’t doubt that some graves were shared.

He hiked through the graveyard, scanning headstones as he passed. He knew where to go. Already looked it up on the website and contacted the main office. Lot 173 was his destination. He trudged down Border Avenue and turned off onto Sassafras Avenue, straight across the cemetery and underneath the shades of big elm trees. It took him almost a half hour to get to the exact spot, but he found it. He found what he was looking for.

A headstone with two names:

 

                                                   Benjamin Franklin Parker                                         Peter Benjamin Parker

                                           September 9, 1964 – April 17, 2016                    August 10, 2001 – November 12, 2016

                                                  Beloved husband and uncle                                     Beloved son and nephew

_His absence is a silent grief, his life a beautiful memory_

Harley approached the dark, granite headstone and muttered a curse. He was too late. Someone already paid their respects. Two bouquets of expensive, fresh flowers rested under each name. Someone out there still loved the two dead men. Someone with money as Harley knew for certain that neither Ned nor Jones could afford a single rose flower let alone an exquisite flower bouquet.

He crouched down, rifling through the flowers to see if there was a note with name. A person to investigate. Emotional grievers often write cards to their deceased loved ones and he imagined whoever paid for the flowers would write one.

He found nothing in the first bouquet, but the second one had a note. One line: _I’m sorry_.

Harley flipped the card over. No signature. Just his luck.

He tossed the note back into the flowers’ stems and huffed out a heated breath. He had hoped he would find luck coming out to the cemetery. An answer, but nothing. Only flowers and, Harley squinted down, a cheap medal in the zip-lock bag.

The scripture read first place for academic decathlon 2016 and the middle bore the Midtown Tech logo. Harley dropped the bag back down. Nothing valuable at all. A stupid token.

A wasted trip.

“You know ‘em?”

Harley jolted, twisting around to see a caretaker with a weed whacker. Dressed in ragged jeans and a green polo shirt with the cemetery logo embroidered on the left side, the man studied Harley’s face. The robust man with thinning hair gave Harley a peculiar look, almost distrustful in his interest of the gravestone.

Harley adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. “Oh, um… sort of,” he lied. “I, uh, went to school with the kid.”

The caretaker relaxed the grip on his weed whacker. “Tragic.”

“Excuse me?”

“The boy,” the caretaker nudged his head to Parker’s gravestone. “Died young. Tragic.”

“Oh. Yes, it is—was,” Harley responded, not caring at all because it was a lie. The boy wasn’t dead. “Say, um, do you know who left these flowers here?”

The caretaker shook his head. “Nope. Flowers come like clockwork though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every two weeks. New flowers,” the caretaker said. “Always fresh flowers for this unknown grave.”

“Unknown?”

“Well, they ain’t famous,” clarified the caretaker. “Fresh flowers for three years, every two weeks? That’s for famous graves. Not little unknowns like this one.”

“Maybe they are famous?” Parker certainly was among the Compound.

The caretaker chuckled. “No, they aren’t. I looked them up. Both regular people. Average Joes. Just wrong place and wrong time.”

Harley didn’t bother to correct him how wrong the man was. Peter Parker was not some regular person. He was an enhanced individual, skirting the Accords and causing mayhem.

He shoved his hands into his jacket, glancing back to the flowers. “So, um… is there a logbook of some sort that notes who delivered the flowers? Like a record of some sort?”

“That’s all private, son,” the caretaker said. “The office manager won’t give those details out. Even then, I doubt it’s a name. Probably a florist.”

Shit, Harley thought. “Oh, well, um… did you happen to see anyone come by? Anyone who comes regularly?”

The caretaker tilted his head in thought for a moment. “There was a kid that came often. Big kid. Asian folk. Came every Saturday. But, he stopped years ago. A red-head did too, but that was years ago as well. Not so much visitors since. Just the flowers.”

Double shit. Harley was back to square one. He was about to thank the caretaker for his help, but the caretaker spoke up again.

“Well… actually now… come to thinkin’ of it, there was one other fella,” the caretaker thought, drawing Harry’s attention back to him. “Doesn’t show up clockwork. Comes and goes whenever. Seen him only a handful of times. But… he shows.”

“Who?”

“Some kid. Around your age, I think,” the caretaker made a vague gesture of a height estimate. “Doesn’t stay long. He was here not too long ago.”

Panic rose up inside him. “Did this kid have brown hair? Messy? Brown eyes? Looks… a bit homeless?”

The caretaker’s eyes squinted with concentration. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That… that sounds about right. Skinny twig of a boy.”

Harley’s heart pounded in his ears. Parker was here. He stopped by. He swung his head around, checking the surroundings almost as if he expected the youth to magically appear.

Nothing, but headstones, mausoleums and shrubbery. Shit!

“How long ago?”

The caretaker cocked his head. “Huh?”

He marched to the caretaker, grabbing the man by his forearm to drag him behind one of elms. The caretaker grunted and grumbled, muttering “What the hell?” until finally Harley let him go.

“How long ago was he here?” Harley repeated, keeping his voice from pitching. “Yesterday? Today? This morning? Is he still here? Which way did he go?”

The caretaker shrugged. “He was here… maybe a few days ago? I don’t know. I take care of the dead. Not the living.”

That didn’t do anyone any good. Harley dug into his jacket’s pockets, pulling out his wallet and a card. He flashed the card in the man’s face. “I’m with SHIELD,” he announced, watching the caretaker’s eyes widened with utmost respect. “I’m investigating a case that involves a dangerous enhanced individual. The person you saw earlier—

“Is he a… a…” the caretaker leaned too close to Harley’s liking. He could smell the staleness of the man’s breath as the caretaker whispered, “a _fug_?”

Harley looked crossed at the man. He’s heard of the slur before, used by fellow agents in regards to those with enhancements in their genetics. It was an abbreviation for freaking, unusual genetics. Harley never used the term (or the others) and disapproved it greatly, especially since Tony hated it. Tony banned the slurs, but Harley heard them be whispered among agents and others at the Compound.

He didn’t politically correct the man, only confirmed with a nod. “Yeah, I need you to tell me everything you got on him. Okay?” he demanded. “When exactly is the last time you saw him? Which direction did he come from and leave? Was he with anyone else? Did he say anything? Did he have anything on him?”

The caretaker stared, befuddled. His mouth agape, eyes blinking as he stuttered out his response. “Um… I-I’m not… I d-don’t follow-ow. He—I don’t know,” the caretaker confessed. “I don’t people watch very often here. Privacy and all. I just take care of the dead.”

“You seemed pretty chatty to me when I got here.”

“Well, that’s because I never see you here,” the caretaker claimed. “I watch that grave because of the flowers. Always flowers and no people. Not that I’ve seen. You were the first new person after a few years.”

“What about the other guy?”

“The fug?”

Harley slightly winced. “Yeah… him. You harassed him? Speak with him?”

The caretaker had to think again. “Um… well, I tried once when he first showed up some time ago,” he said, recalling long ago moments. “But, he scampered off real quick. Never got the chance to speak to him again. He just kind of fled, you know? Probably because he’s a fug and he didn’t wanna get caught.”

Harley heaved a long sigh, eyes lifting to the Heavens. “Something like that,” he mumbled as he scanned the area once more.

The cemetery kept up the eerie quietness of the dead. All the living were outside the iron gates, honking and chattering over the dead. Only Harley and the caretaker remained surrounded by stones and shrubs. Parker long gone.

Still, it was new information. Something to work with. Another place to check out instead of only Queens.

Harley turned back to the caretaker. “Look here,” he ordered and the caretaker stood at attention like a private-ranking soldier. “If that guy ever comes back around, I want you to call the SHIELD hotline. You know the number, right?”

“It’s all over the news, yeah.”

“Call them,” Harley said. “Don’t go up to him. Don’t approach. Call SHIELD and they’ll deal with it. Got it?”

The caretaker lifted a hand to his forehead. A salute. “Yes, sir!”

Harley clumsy returned one, secretly appreciating the respect. “Thanks,” he said to the man. “You’re doing a brave thing helping us out.”

The caretaker boasted out his chest. “Anything to catch more of those fugs,” he declared. “Don’t need them running amok, undisciplined and all. All they do is cause trouble for us common folks.”

“No kidding,” was all Harley added before stepped away from the caretaker and his weed whacker. It was time to go.

Harley nodded his assurance, and then departed from the cemetery. He hurried out, hailing for a cab to drive him straight to the Tower to report to Reynolds in regards to the breakthrough in the case.

* * *

Reynolds was not available to talk when Harley arrived at the Tower.

When he entered the Tower from the secret passageway, FRIDAY alerted to him of Reynolds’ unavailability.

“Tell him it’s an emergency!”

“Are you dying?” asked FRIDAY.

“No, but… it has to do with Parker.”

“Did you locate Peter Parker?”

“Well… not exactly,” Harley said to the AI. “I found out another place he was spotted.”

FRIDAY let out a negative hum. “I’m sorry. That is not considered an emergency,” she said. “Only if Peter Parker is found will Reynolds be available to see you.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Keener,” FRIDAY said. “I am following my protocols.”

FRIDAY suggested he could try tomorrow to meet with Reynolds or wait until Reynolds finished his meeting. Harley opted to wait, knowing what he had learned could not be told the next morning.

Unsure where to go, FRIDAY suggested he bide his time by visiting the Sixth Floor Bar. Apparently, Jack and Luke were already there.

Harley hesitated. Ever since he claimed Peter Parker was alive, Jack and Luke had been cold to him. Less receptive than they used to be, especially Jack. That man was always chirpy, but recently, he shared the same brooding demeanor as Luke. They ignored Harley, brushed him aside and hardly entertained with whatever report he had to share with the group whenever Reynolds decided to do a team debrief.

Harley secretly suspected Luke and Jack were aware of Parker faking his death. Their reluctance to believe fueled Harley’s theory that they were protecting Parker and sabotaging their efforts to recapture him. Unfortunately, Harley lacked any evidence to support his theory, and to suggest it to Reynolds would only earn him condemnation from him and everyone else.

So, he kept his thoughts to himself. Never said a word.

When he got to the lounge bar, the place was empty. Except for Jack and Luke, who claimed two stools as their own at the bar. No one else was around. Not even a bartender. Guess everyone went home or still working hard.

Harley crossed the room, each step pattering against the tiled floor. Jack lifted his head and looked in his direction. The man mouthed something to Luke and he too glanced over his shoulder at him. Harley swallowed the heavy lump in his throat, but he didn’t stop walking. He had every right to be there. More so than them. Not that Jack and Luke cared.

Harley reached the bar and pulled out a stool to sit. He looked over at Luke and Jack, just two chairs away from them.

“Hey.”

Luke and Jack gave him silent bobs in return before nursing back their beers. That was probably the best interaction he ever had with them since that fateful night.

Harley inhaled. Then exhaled, fingers idly drumming on the bar top. “So, um, do you know when Reynolds will be back or—”

“He’s in a meeting with Stark,” Jack reported, eyes straightforward and away from Harley’s baffled face.

Reynolds was meeting with Tony? “About what?”

“Probably about dropping this wild goose chase,” Luke grunted, his voice edged with annoyance. “Waste of time. Pete’s dead.”

Harley’s brows scrunched together as he frowned. “It’s not a wild goose chase,” he asserted, resenting the belittling of his own character. "And I saw him, Luke. I saw him and… and so did another."

That got Luke and Jack to swing their heads to him, giving Harley their full, and shocked, attention.

“What?" Luke lowered his drink back to the bar. A deep line creased right between his eyebrows as he fixed his steely gaze on Harley. "Who?"

"Someone at the cemetery in Brooklyn," Harley replied, smug. "He saw Parker at the grave."

"What grave?"

"His grave."

"Peter has a grave?" Jack uttered, oddly perplexed by the notion of a grave for Parker. "Didn't think there was one for him."

Harley ignored Jack's comment. "Yeah—the caretaker said he sees Parker every now and then. Saw him a few days ago, actually.”

Luke stared hard at Harley, scrutinizing him to pieces to try to find any lies in his words. "You sure your guy was telling the truth?"

"Yes."

Luke drew up a questionable, doubtful brow. "You showed him a picture of Peter and he said that's the guy?"

Harley hesitated before answering. "... um, well, no," he confessed, shifting in his seat. "I gave him a description though, and he said it matched--"

Luke and Jack both let out an obnoxious scoff of disbelief. "You mean the same description that describes almost every Caucasian guy?" Luke asked, in humor. "Yeah... I'm sure he saw tons of guys like that."

"No, that's not... _no_!" Harley grew indignant at their dismissal. "He saw him, okay? Right by Parker's grave. He said he shows up at—"

"A lot of people show up at graves," Luke returned with his own spitfire. "Friends. Family. Regular folks who are just walking around to check it out. You got no proof that it was Peter at that grave."

"The caretaker saw him!"

"And how old is this caretaker?" Jack questioned, propping his elbows up on the bar, jaw cupped in his palm.

"Um... maybe fifty?" Although the man looked to be well past sixty years of age, but Harley wasn’t going to tell them that. Not when they both wore similar unpromising frowns. "He didn't look crazy! He told me he watches that grave because of the flowers and—"

His words were cut off by a burst of crackling laughter. Luke and Jack failed to restrain themselves, sniggering away into their drinks at Harley’s expense. Not at all caring that Harley’s face redden and he bristled at their mockery.

"It's not funny! Fuck you, guys," he huffed, throwing a crude hand gesture in their direction. "Tony believes me and he'll believe me on this too."

Their chuckles faded, but the humorous smiles remained on their faces. "Of course Stark will believe it,” Luke agreed with that awful smile. “Only because he  _wants_  to.”

Luke’s comment brought a slight chill down Harley’s spine. “What do you mean?”

“Before you,” Luke said with a sigh, his smile fading back into his face, “there was Peter.”

“The Little Prince,” Jack said in quiet fondness. “He could do no wrong.”

“Not in Stark’s eyes,” Luke added in agreement. “The kid got away with lots of things we never could.”

“Guess it’s one of the perks of being Stark’s kid, huh?”

Harley blanked. Mind static. He sat on the stool in a stupor as the protective layer around him cracked around him. And when the words were fully processed, the layer shattered. It cut him hard. A stabbing pain right in his heart before it dropped out of him. Even then, he only had one thought. Tony had a kid. Parker was Tony’s kid. No… that wasn’t right. Tony would have told him about having a kid. He would have said something that he had his own child. Even back in Tennessee, when they first met, Tony would have told or mentioned that he had a kid somewhere out in the world.

Tony never said anything though. Why didn’t he say anything? It explained the restricted access to Parker’s files. If Parker was Tony’s son… oh God! Why didn’t Tony tell him? Did Tony tell him? Should he have known?

Harley felt like an imbecile, slumping further in his seat. “Parker is Tony’s son.”

“What? No!” Luke looked outraged and Jack stared at Harley like he was an idiot for thinking it. “No, no, no—Peter was just the favorite. That’s all.”

“Probably because he was a big nerd,” Jack jokingly added. “Rattled on about robots and physics and... stuff I don’t even know. It all went over my head. Kind of muted him once he started going.”

“The kid was smart,” Luke agreed. “He was something else that’s for sure.” He nodded along to his memories and thoughts. “God—doesn’t seem that long ago he was huddling close to us. Remember how he used to trail after us?”

“Of course,” Jack said, finishing his beer. “I would too if Powers was ganging up on me every second. Reynolds did shit to help the boy. Got pissy after Peter jumped the fence.”

“Probably because Stark raked him over,” Luke said more as an afterthought. “Stark was fiercely protective of Peter, wasn’t he?”

“Yeppers,” Jack poked Luke’s bulging muscles. “Hey, hey, remember when Stark went all Mike Tyson on Powers?” He waited for Luke to chuckle in remembrance. “Oh shit—I thought he was going to kill him.”

“Would you’ve been sad if he did?”

Jack shook his head. “Nah—wanted to kick the shit out of him too. He was such a prick.”

Harley didn’t know who or what the hell they were talking about. They diverted right out of the conversation Harley needed clarification, so he steered them back on track.

“So… wait a minute, hold up,” Harley waved his hand out to get their focus again. “So you’re saying Tony and Parker were like… what? Like Parker was the star pupil or—”

“I don’t know,” Luke sounded tired, and detached as if their conversation didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t, but Harley wanted to know nonetheless, so he gestured for Luke to continue. “They were close, I guess. Who knows what they were? All anyone knows is that Stark lost the kid and it messed him up.”

Harley remembered the reaction in the office. When Tony threw everything off the desk and screamed. He recalled the stress in the man’s eyes, the heaviness of his posture as he paced and the snappish banter between him and Happy. But, most importantly, Harley saw the optimistic smile overcoming all the darkness. It fluttered up, reaching the Tony’s dark eyes, shining bright as he muttered the thought of bringing Parker back home.

“So, you galvanizing about Peter being alive will most certainly make Stark want to believe everything you say,” Luke’s face hardened like a marble stone as he jabbed a finger right at Harley’s face. “You ran your mouth too fast, kid. You got Stark’s hopes up. Got a lot of people’s hopes up, and if you lied, well…”

Luke left his warning hanging, as if his words were a real rope wrapped around Harley’s neck. Harley swallowed and averted his gaze away from them. His eyes stung, not in sadness though. In anger. In resentment. What made Peter Parker so damn special?

And Luke calling him a liar. Calling him an attention-seeker. Calling him what everyone was thinking at this point, it flayed him. He _saw_ Peter Parker. He _heard_ Peter Parker. It was not a lie or a cry for attention. If anything, Parker was the liar! If what Luke and Jack said was true about Tony and Parker, then why the hell was Parker pretending to be dead? Why had he not returned? Why was he helping the Resistance, and betraying the one man who _cared_ about him? These questions needed to be answered. Not questions on Harley’s character and assertions.

Harley’s whole body pulsated as the frustration of disrespect burned through him. It decimated any rationale, any common decency that polite society recommended. He should ignore it. Let all their accusations and gossip slide off him. Remain unbothered.

Bitterness soured his tongue as Harley grumbled under his breath, “Parker is the liar.”

And he was going to prove it once and for all.

He pushed away from the bar, sliding off his stool. “I gotta go,” he told Luke and Jack. “Early rise tomorrow.”

“What about the cemetery?” Jack questioned. “You wanna tell Reynolds, right?”

Not anymore. “Well, if I go off your belief, it’s probably nothing,” Harley said, acting nonchalant with a half-shrug. “I can tell Reynolds tomor—”

“Tell me what?”

He jumped in the air and spun around to the doors. Reynolds had walked through, marching forward to where they gathered. There was a heaviness about the man. A pained, tired look in his eyes as he flickered a glance to each face at the bar. He drew up between Luke and Harley, looking between them as if waiting for someone to blurt out an accusation.

No one did, so Reynolds let out a long, exhausted sigh. “What? Nothing?”

Harley went to shake his head, but Jack beat him. “Harley here says a man spotted Peter at a cemetery,” he said, nudging his head in Harley’s lone direction. “Isn’t that what you were telling us?”

Reynolds swept his gaze to Harley, narrowed. “Is that so?” he said. “Well, whatever you have to say, tell it to Bishop.”

Harley scrunched up his face, puzzled by what Reynolds meant. Who was he supposed to tell it too if not him? It seemed everyone else was thrown off by Reynolds's response. Both Jack and Luke stared in bafflement, thrown off by Reynolds' disregard of what was to be the most important thing for their team. 

“Bishop?” A quizzical frown screwed Jack’s face. “Why would he tell… _no_!”

Jack lurched forward, straight off his chair. Luke did too. Their mouths hung opened, bewildered and horrified, staring at Reynolds like he reported the most dreadful news to them. Harley watched it unfold, wondering what Jack and Luke realized that he didn’t. He reviewed all that he heard inside his head, trying to piece information together, but he was left with utter confusion as to what was so horrifying.

Harley watched Jack slowly shake his head in disbelief. “No… no, no, no, _Reynolds_!” he said, almost begging for Reynolds to renounce his previous statement. When Reynolds said nothing, Jack was aghast. “You’re fucking joking?!”

“I am not,” Reynolds said, gravely.

“They’ll kill him!”

“They were given orders not to.”

Luke scoffed. “And you believe any of them?” he sneered. “They hate him. They threatened to kill him. Remember when they tried to disfigure him? Did you forget?”

“I did not,” Reynolds stated, voice tight as if his throat was constricted. “It is out of my hands. Stark made the decision.”

“Stark!” spat Jack, appalled and stunned. “Does _he_ know what they did?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s still bringing Shadow Company in?” Luke questioned, struggling just as much as Jack to wrap his mind around it. “After everything those bastards—”

“Again, out of my hands,” said Reynolds, shoulders lifted in defeat. “I argued against it, but we haven’t made any progress on finding him. Bishop’s team holds the most records in completing missions, and Stark wants this done and over with. Nothing I can do about it.

“Besides, it’s not like they’ll have much luck,” Reynolds argued, reaching over and grabbing himself a beer. “Most likely the kid is still dead. Chasing a ghost.”

Jack and Luke flickered their eyes briefly to Harley. “Well, some say differently, right Har?” Jack remarked, holding his gaze on Harley. “You happy? Got those pieces of shit to join in on this.”

Harley stayed quiet. It didn’t bother him at all that Bishop got involved. He led the most successful Avengers’ Fifty-State Initiative teams—Shadow Company. Unlike the other teams in the program, Shadow Company had no borders. They go where they are needed. That was how good they were. They were not confined to a single area. They were needed everywhere. Trusted to finish the most complicated jobs.

It made sense for Tony to bring Shadow Company into the operation. They had no luck for a month. If anyone would be able to root Parker out wherever he hid, it would be Shadow Company. Harley didn’t see it as a horrible thing like Jack, Luke and Reynolds did. They needed more people, more talent to help them scour Queens.

“Not particularly,” Harley replied to Jack’s rhetorical question. “Better to have more help than none.”

The three men disagreed with their fraught expressions of disapproval and aggravation at the idea of having Bishop and Shadow Company assist them. It was like they preferred to die than team up with them. To them, Shadow Company was the villain. The enemy.

“This is insane!” Jack burst, outraged. “It’s... how could Stark do this?”

“Desperation,” Luke replied, and Reynolds nodded his head, as he took his first swallow of his beer. “You’ve seen Stark with Peter. The man will do whatever it takes to find Peter.”

Jack slumped over the bar, accepting the truth of Luke’s words with broken surrender. “Still shouldn’t trust them,” he grumbled. “They’ll fuck it up. Hurt him.”

“Now, now, Jack Harrison, let’s not spread any rumors about my team.”

The new voice surprised everyone. They all snapped their heads to the door, where an African American man strode through into the lounge. He was as big as Luke Cage and, unlike Luke Cage, had long, black hair, tied back into a ponytail. He had a beard around his thick lips, which smiled at all of them as he approached their little group. And as he got closer, there was an unmistakable mark over the man’s right eye. It was shaped as a “M”.

The big newcomer stopped right next to Reynolds, who looked irritated by the man’s appearance. “After all… we’re all on the same team,” he said to Jack, but addressing to all of them. “We all want to help Peter and get him back home safe and sound.”

“Do you now?” Luke sarcastically muttered.

“Of course,” the man said, still smiling as if they were all buddies. Not at all noticing—or choosing to not notice—the animosity from the others. “I was quite fond of the boy myself when he stayed at the Compound.”

“Is that why your team tried to dismantle him?” Jack sneered, to which Reynolds sent a sharp glare at Jack to get him to be silent.

“Jack!” hissed Reynolds between his teeth in hopes to get the man stop antagonizing their allies. “Stop it. Bishop is here to assist and we must… we must work together if we want to do it right.”

Reynolds struggled to finish that sentence. He heaved out a breath before he chugged two gulps of his beer to rinse his mouth clean.

So that was Bishop. Leader of Shadow Company. Harley reexamined the man again. Yes, he looked like someone who would lead a wild bunch of misfits into an organized fighting unit.

Bishop chuckled at Reynolds’s expense, shaking his head in humor. "That hard to say it, huh?" he said, patting Reynolds's shoulder in a patronizing manner. "Never realized the of our rivalry. Honestly, never considered it to be one."

Harley saw Luke and Jack growl and grumbled under their breaths. Bishop didn't notice. His eyes wondered, looking until the scarred eyes spotted Harley off to the side, away from everyone else. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, stretching his hand out to him to shake. “I’m Bishop. Who might you be?”

“Harley,” Harley answered, returning the handshake. “Harley Keener. SHIELD agent.”

“Ahh! Yes—you’re the one who saw Peter,” Bishop said, pulling his hand back and tucking it into his long, trench coat’s pocket. “Working as an undercover rebel at the Queens Resistance, correct?”

Harley nodded. “Yeah—yeah, that’s um… me.”

Bishop smiled, lips peeled up. “Not bad,” he complimented. “Took you one night to do what our surveillance has been doing for three years! And then you… you just walk across him at the right time and place. Impressive, really.”

“Thank you, sir.” He didn’t know if it was a compliment or an insult.

Bishop shot him a wink, before he turned back around to his skeptics. “Reynolds’s right,” he said to Luke and Jack. “I’m not here to antagonize or step on any toes. Stark wants us all to work together to bring Petey home. And that’s what we’re going to do. My team is already out and looking. Hope to find Peter in the next week.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Jack called out. “If Peter’s memory is still intact, your team won’t ever catch him. Even with Bullseye back on the squad.”

Bishop hummed in acknowledgment. “Perhaps, but… I guess we’ll have to see. Won’t we?”

No one had time to respond as the conversation was disrupted by a round of beeps.

Everyone checked their pockets, determining if it was them being called upon. Reynolds glanced down at his waited, pulling up an alerting Starkphone. It rang a few more beeps before Reynolds answered it. A hologram image of Lady Deathstrike appeared. She probably heard the news of Shadow Company’s involvement with their operations and wanted to share her disapproval of the interference.

Reynolds clicked to answer. “Reynolds here,” he said, leaning against the bar and using his hand to rub the emotional turmoil from his face. “What is it Yuriko?”

“I found him.”


	7. Bad Blood

Crazy.

Madness.

Chaos.

Those were the words that popped into Harley’s mind as everything unfolded around him. Like a natural disaster occurred. Or the enemy arrived at the gates. Everyone acted like they were getting ready for war. Harley followed out with Reynolds. The man bustled out of the Tower, as did many others, sliding into the nearest vehicle. Harley slipped in behind, sliding in the seat directly behind Reynolds.

The vehicle sped out, turning sharply onto the New York streets. Reynolds booted up a Starkpad and placed an ear piece in his ear. He tapped it awake, gaining access to whoever was on the other end. He spoke rapidly. Not at all slowing down as the car tilted on its wheels as it swung around another corner, driving straight up Third Avenue. Directly up the ramp to the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, heading right into Queens.

“Head to Woodside,” Reynolds directed, gesturing to looming shadows and dark buildings. “Down Broadway. Yuriko? Still got eyes on him?”

Harley saw Lady Deathstrike’s visual. He could tell she was running based on the unsteadiness of the video recording.  _“Lost him two blocks ago. A drone is chasing after him now. He’s heading southwest.”_

The driver slammed down on the pedal. The car lurched at the transition. Harley fell back in his seat from the turbo power. His body swayed along with the car as it moved in between traffic, headed into the less populated area of Queens. He scooted right back up to the edge and stretched his neck to see over Reynolds’s shoulder. Lady Deathstrike’s visual was gone. Replaced with a well-lit, blue screen of a live-action video feed of someone sprinting away, pushing through crowded sidewalks.

“Is that him?”

Reynolds jerked, surprised to see Harley in the back seat of the car.

“I told you to stay at the Tower!” Reynolds snapped before he barked at the driver to turn right. The car’s wheels squealed at the sharp turn. The captain turned back to Harley, face blotchy. “You—no! No—I don’t have time for you.”

Harley shrugged, peering out the window. It was crazy. The streets were now cleared for them. Even the traffic lights were permanent green, almost controlled to keep traffic at bay. Buildings blurred as they whizzed past, moving fast. Sirens were heard everywhere. Above them, Harley saw a helicopter. Its spotlight shooting down an intense ray of light, trying to track Peter Parker from the sky.

Reynolds gripped the Starkpad, staring at the video feed that came from a Stark drone. Harley stretched his neck over the headrest again, looking over the captain’s shoulder to see. The drone trailed after Parker, speeding from street to street before it swung up, towards the buildings. Towards the roofs. Towards the sky.

What the hell?

“He moved to the roofs,” Reynolds barked out to whoever was on the other side of the comms. “Do you have eyes? Anyone have eyes?!”

Harley heard static. Reynolds pressed against his ear piece. “Shit—” He glanced out the windshield. “Take a left. He’s going to circle back to where there’re more buildings. Follow the chopper.”

The driver nodded and twisted the wheel to the left. The car swung again and Harley’s seatbelt dug into his chest to restrain him.

“Jesus!” Reynolds huffed, straightening in his seat. “Easy on the turns!” He pressed against his ear again. “Cage? Harrison? Where’re you at? I need you up there pronto. Best you two get to him first before anyone else. Understood?”

Another static response that Harley couldn’t hear, but he imagined it was their affirmative response to Reynolds request. They would do what they can to get to Parker first.

They followed the helicopter. Parker must be running from one roof to the next. Harley knew Parker was enhanced, but to jump from roof to roof, be quicker than the drone, and somehow scale a building up with no adhesives… it was all incredulous to him. What exactly was Peter Parker?

Two additional drones joined in the chase. All three kept on Parker’s trail, capturing his stunts and tactics to avoid capture. Many of the agents who got the chance encounter struggled to keep up or even stop him. It was like Parker predicted their every move, every thought, every act. Even with the tactical drones chasing him, Parker occasionally disappeared from their radar, causing the drones to reroute itself to find him again.

Reynolds pressed a hand to his ear. “Okay. Stop at the barricades up ahead,” he instructed the driver.

They reached the barricaded line. Already, onlookers peeked out of windows and wandered onto the streets, edging close to the police line to figure out what was happening. Officers granted them entry when Reynolds showed them his badge, and the driver pulled aside and parked.

Reynolds unbuckled. “Stay in the car,” he ordered over his shoulder as he got out.

Naturally, Harley waited a minute before he exited the vehicle to follow Reynolds. SHIELD agents scurried around to set up a perimeter and blockade as he maneuvered his way up to the front lines. Bishop was already there, standing by a portable monitor, watching the video feed in action. Reynolds joined on the other side, glancing at the screen and double-checking the Starkpad.

“What do you got?”

“He’s heading due course,” answered the SHIELD technician controlling the monitor. “Setting up frequencies to subdue him.”

“Will it work?”

“If not,” Bishop said, folding his arms across his chest. “Then we have Plan B set in motion.”

Harley bunched his brows. “What’s Plan B?”

Reynolds swung around, jar dropping in an aggravated exasperation. “I thought I told you to wait in the car?”

“And I did,” Harley answered, peering at the monitor’s screen before he softly added, “…for a bit.”

Reynolds bristled at the insubordination. “For God’s sake, Keener,” he huffed. “Now is not the time to rebel against my authority. Not this minute. There’s too much at stake to deal with your problems.”

Harley’s eyebrows trailed up. “My problems?”

Reynolds rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he grumbled. “Just stay put. Don’t fucking move.”

Harley shot him a judged look, but didn’t argue. He kept quiet, standing behind the technician as the agent pounded at the keyboard with swift fingers, eyes checking the screen as information computed.

Bishop looked down over the technician’s shoulder. “Update?”

"Parker is coming straight for us," he informed both Bishop and Reynolds. “Setting up frequencies in a second.”

"Frequencies?" Harley arched a questionable brow at Reynolds, wondering how a frequency would halt Parker in his tracks.

"It's a theory," Bishop intercepted the question from Reynolds. "Something we worked on long ago before it was scrapped. But, if it works... easier to apprehend. Less of a mess."

Harley cocked an eyebrow. "Why would there be a mess?" He'd met Parker. He was a frail figure with a ratty clothes. Nothing screamed dangerous or even a mild threat. Honestly, Harley could poke Parker in the ribs and the boy would shatter into pieces. 

Bishop let out a humored snort before he turned his attention to the technician. "Ready?"

The technician glanced up at the monitor, seeing Parker run onto the next roof. Their chosen roof for the trap. "Go time," he announced.

He turned a dial on a machine. Harley checked back to the monitor. Parker was still running, the drones chasing after him and the helicopter flying overhead. And then... Parker skidded to a halt. He leapt away, nearly ramming his back right into a drone. The drone swerved out of the way, rotating to the front and showing Parker's face. The boy looked troubled and confused, eyes dancing wildly in different directions. He squinted, shaking his head and backtracking before he jumped again, moving in the opposite direction.

And then, Parker clamped his hands over his ears. His face screwed into a pinched, pained mien. Nose curled up. Mouth taut. Eyes scrunched shut to bear whatever pain was evoked upon him.

"It's working,” the technician marveled as they all watched Parker flounder on the rooftop.

Harley looked at Bishop, his smile big and proud. "We got him.”

Reynolds scoffed. "Hardly!" he stated, nudging to the monitor. "You are only confusing him. Not subduing. Look! He’s fighting it.”

Sure enough, a drone got too close to Parker and he managed to punch it. The drone’s visual blurred as it spun out of control until it cracked against the side of a chimney chute. Harley watched one of their video screens blackened. Another followed quickly afterwards.

Harley’s eyes widened, unaware the boy had the strength to break a drone. Given his gaunt and sullen structure, Harley never conceived the idea Parker was strong. Maybe he should have known. After all, Parker took out all those agents and single-handedly beat the old simulation game. Plus, Parker was enhanced. The boy had to have something to be marked as a threat. Super strength was threatening.

Bishop was unbothered by Parker’s resistance and of Reynolds’ lack of support. “It’s enough to get men to the roof to capture him,” He pressed his communicator again. “I need lights.”

Upon command, the rooftop burst into blinding light. The helicopter circled. Harley watched Parker skirt away from the ledge, raising his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding spotlight that relentlessly followed him. Harley saw more agents appear, taking control of the surrounding rooftops. Harley noticed the guns. Each one heavily armed.

All for a scrawny, tatty boy?

The helicopter hovered close. “ _THIS IS SHIELD! STAND DOWN AND PREPARE TO BE APPREHENDED!”_

Harley watched Parker dodge the light, trying slip into darkness to hide, but the lights stayed on him. The helicopter followed, lowering itself between two buildings to block him. No more hiding. No more running.

Yet, Harley watched Parker race right for it.

Reynolds cursed. “He’s going to jump!”

Parker wouldn’t make it. The gap between the two buildings too wide for a boy of his stature to make a landing. Only outcome would be Parker plummeting to his death, ending his life as a splattered puddle of skin and guts.  

"Turn up the frequency," Bishop ordered the technician.

"I can't, sir," replied the technician.

"What? Why not?"

The technician flustered. "It's a prototype, sir. Stark hasn't even approved of it yet, and... I don't know how much damage it's doing to the kid. I-I don't want to hurt him."

Bishop dropped his head, both hands on hips, muttering. "Jesus Christ," He pressed hard against his communicator. "Someone take him down!"

“NO!” Reynolds shouted over Bishop's command. “Do not fire your weapons! I repeat!  _Do not fire_.”

“What are you doing, Rob?” confronted Bishop, unhappy his orders were overridden. “This is my call.”

“You think Stark would forgive you if you shot his kid?”

Harley’s fingers twitched, curling into his palm as he tried to stay focused on the video feed. Parker moved fast, his feet hardly touching the ground, almost like he was flying rather than running. Harley heard a clatter of noises in different directions, everyone freaking out and yelling out orders. Everyone was trying to stop Parker.

The agent in the helicopter, holding the megaphone, shouted again: “ _FINAL WARNING! STAND DOWN. I REPEAT—STAND DOWN.”_

Parker ignored the warning. He went for a giant leap of faith…

“ _PETER!_ ”

The name reverberated across the skies. It got Parker skid to a halt and Harley to whip his head up to the night sky. In the distance, he spotted a small projectile streaking across the dark. A layman would have mistaken it as a falling star. Not Harley though. He recognized the sounds of thrusters interrupting the commotion. It shot overhead, hurtling straight down to the roof. From the lone drone’s video feed, Harley watched the familiar red and gold suit land in the center of the rooftop.

Harley let out a breath. It was over.

Iron Man arrived.

The suit straightened. Its marveled arrival directed all eyes to the flashy red and gold superhero suit. Iron Man appearance signaled the last act. Everyone relaxed, the anxious tensions and chaos that dominated the scene dissipated at once. They all knew it was over. Parker was done.

Harley expected Iron Man to fire a repulsor blast at Parker, knock the insurgent unconscious, and nearby agents would collect and secure him. But, that didn’t happen.

To his astonishment, the Iron Man suit opened up. Pieces broke away, undoing itself, until it revealed Tony inside the famous suit. Tony stepped out, his clothes ruffled and hair untidy. He moved away from the suit, leaving himself vulnerable. Unprotected against Parker.

What the hell was he doing? Harley freaked. Parker had super strength. He could literally crush Tony’s bones into fine dust. He needed to get to Tony. Be his back-up.

He bolted for the building, fumbling over the loose cords in his haste to help Tony. But a hand snatched his tricep and pulled him back.  

It was Reynolds. “No… wait!”

Harley tugged, trying to get out of his grip. “He needs help!” he argued. “He’s in danger!”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Reynolds replied. He didn’t release Harley at all. Probably not trusting him at all to stay. He probably wouldn’t.

Harley looked back at the video feed, watching Tony expose himself to Parker with no shield and no weapon to defend himself. It left Harley feeling helpless, his mind pleading with Tony to get back into the suit. Get into the suit and fire off a repulsor at Parker. End the chase. End the hunt. End it all.

Tony didn’t. He continued taking slow and international steps closer to Parker. The suit far behind him, no chance to jump back in at a second’s notice. Tony held his hands slightly up, showing his lack of gimmicks and weapons on him. As if trying to calm a cornered, feral animal. Which was what Parker looked like. Wild, dirty and defensive.

Trepidation scarred the boy’s willowy and gaunt appearance. Uneasy eyes stayed on Tony, weary mistrust lingering in that somber stare. The youthful complexion shattered by distressed lines. There was a slight tremor running through the boy. It caused Parker to stumble backwards, away from Tony’s approaching figure.

Harley grabbed both his elbows, squeezing them tight to his chest. He bounced on his toes a bit, sneaking glances from the screen back to the building in front of him, where Tony and Parker faced each other hundreds of feet above him. He wished he could be up there with Tony. At least to cover for Tony as he confronted Parker. Instead, he was down below, away from it all, and stuck in watching everything happen on a screen, helpless to do anything if it all goes wrong.

Tony stopped in his procession, hands cautiously lowered to his side. There was a moment. A look Harley had never seen before. The way Tony simply stared, the way his eyes bulged as he took in Parker’s full appearance, it was of incredulity and unimaginable relief. From the drone’s angle, saw the shock melt off Tony’s face into something soft, the tension slackening from his jaw as all doubts slipped into true belief. And in the man’s eyes, staring right at Peter, was hope.

“ _Peter_.” Tony’s voice sounded softer, calmer and kind.

Harley’s stomach let out a tiny, uncomfortable spasm. His guts twisting into tiny knots. He cringed as he watched Parker sucked in a breath, scooting further away until his heel hit the ledge. He stared at Tony with a heavy dread. He kept blinking rapidly, uncontrollably so that it annoyed Harley. The boy fidgeted. Chest quivering at each breath. Eyes darting around his surroundings, taking considerations on whether to jump or fight.

“Don’t be stupid kid,” Reynolds muttered under his breath, deep lines folded into his forehead as he watched from his Starkpad.

Next to him, Harley heard Bishop whisper into his communicator. “In position?”

More static was heard from the ear piece. Someone was talking to Bishop, affirming whatever the Shadow’s leader requested.

Bishop nodded once. “Keep on target,” he issued before ending the call to refocus on the confrontation between Tony and Parker.

Parker's hands shook again before he squeezed them into submission. Tightening for control as he eyed Stark, questioning the man and calculating his next move. Parker rotated, widening the gap between him and Stark. Enough breathing room. Enough room to give him a sense of control.

Harley bit the inside of his cheek. Both Tony and Parker stared at one another. Not a word passed, but that didn't mean nothing was happening. Even from the small video feed, Harley could see the conflict in Tony's face. The urge to get Parker to listen to him, to believe him, to trust him.

Yet, the longer Parker stared, the more the boy's expression tightened. Jaw hardened. Eyebrows slanted over. That wariness hurt dissipated. It changed. Something boiled over him because the dread was gone, replaced with a cold anger in those Bambi-like eyes.

It sent loud warnings in Harley’s head. Tony needed to get back into the suit. Parker was going to hurt him. He was going to attack!

Tony didn’t retreat. He stayed in his vulnerable position, remaining calm, almost forgetting the world was watching. That the army surrounding the rooftop was ready to leap at his command, ready to take down Parker once and for all.

Tony ignored all that. His sole focus was on Parker.

Everyone waited for Parker to move, to come closer with hands up and knees down on the concrete. Everyone was glued to the screens. They watched Parker rotate his arm, move his hand up, fingers curling in toward his wrist and—

_BANG!_

Parker jerked. The force of the bullet spun the boy right off balance. Right over the ledge. Harley’s eyes widened as Parker twisted, his feet slipping underneath him. He fell and disappeared over the side, swallowed up by the dark.

“What the hell!” roared Reynolds, his strong hands broke the Starkpad into two. He gasped at the imaging, overwhelmed at what he witnessed before he wheeled onto Bishop. “What did you do? I said no shots!”

Bishop ignored Reynolds’s purpling face as he listened in on his earpiece. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Okay… everything is fine. It was a clean shot. Parker isn’t dead.”

“Did someone catch him?”

“Working on it.”

Chaos resumed around him, but all Harley paid attention to was Tony.

Tony didn’t move. Still rooted where he stood, gaze left on the empty space Parker once occupied. Hands hung at his sides, and his face a countenance of unfurling sadness. It didn’t matter if they caught Parker or not. The rejection punctured in every blink Tony made as he came to terms with what happened. He lost. They lost.

Parker was gone.

* * *

It was a mess afterwards. All of Queens was shut down to continue the hunt, and yet, Parker disappeared out of thin air. Almost like he never existed. Good thing there were several eye witnesses and recordings to prove Peter Parker was alive and running through Queens. No one could doubt or brush Harley’s words aside.  

Nonetheless, all of that meant shit to upper management. They lost Parker, which Reynolds found it hard to even imagine considering they had the building surrounded. They thoroughly checked it, from top to bottom, but no sign. Not even a blood splatter. Parker ghosted, and no one knew where to search for him next.

They tried to talk to Tony. The man didn’t answer them. After watching Parker fall off the ledge, Tony retreated into his suit and flown off. No orders or directions. Flew up and away from the rooftop, back toward Stark Tower. When they all returned to the Tower about an hour later, Happy Hogan barred them from seeing Tony. Told them all he was busy and wanted to be left alone.

That meant Bishop was in charge, and Reynolds was not happy.

Harley lounged in a nearby chair, listening to the two captains quarrel over who was responsible for the fuck up. Bishop insisted he did not order Lester to take the shot. Bullseye took the initiative, without orders. Not Bishop’s fault. Reynolds thought otherwise.

“What the hell was he even doing up there?” he challenged, teeth grinding together to contain the smoldering frustration that flickered in his eyes. “Why the hell did he have a rifle?”

“It was all hands on deck,” Bishop defended his team. “Lester followed protocol, but I never issued the command to fire.”

“You know damn well Bullseye hardly follows orders! You see this is why I told Stark not to bring your team on. Can’t trust them to follow orders! Damn them and damn the consequences!” Reynolds accused, but then his eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing, distrustful look. “Unless, you were hoping he would shoot Peter. Take him out.”

Bishop raised an appalling brow, the ‘M’ scar stretching far up his forehead. “Why would I want Peter dead? I am particularly fond of him,” he said with warm assurance. “I always told Stark that Peter should have been in my group. Great potential, that boy. Would have certainly fared better under my tutelage.”

And Harley swore Reynolds burned like a throttling comet. His tranquil eyes flashed of brimstone, glaring at Bishop. “Peter would have been dead in a month under your care,” he growled. “Murdered by his own teammates.”

“Oh? Like he was with you?” Bishop folded his arms in front of his chest, a winning smirk on his lips. “How is Johnny doing these days?”

Reynolds immediately stiffened. His jaw clamped down. Nerves vibrated with rage, but he refused to roar. He huffed in defiance before storming off to put greater distance between him and Bishop. Whoever Johnny was, it was someone Reynolds refused to acknowledge.

Bishop clicked his tongue in disapproval. “That man’s ego is too big for him,” he noted before he glanced to Harley. “No offense.”

Harley shrugged. “It’s okay. Kind of knew it already.”

“Most do.”

Harley awkwardly shifted in his seat, unsure what to do now. Reynolds kept his team out in Queens, with orders to keep searching until they found Parker. Harley wanted to join in the hunt, but Reynolds made him return to the Tower for security reasons. Harley argued, stating his time and skills were better off running around Queens, but Reynolds simply grabbed him by the arm and threw him in the back of the car.

And, so now Harley was at the Tower, thinking about how everything went wrong. Thinking about Reynolds and Bishop bickering over who was to blame. And, of course, Harley thought of Tony.

He couldn’t expunge the look on Tony’s face from his memory. That disheartened, broken look that drowned the man. Harley hadn’t expected Tony to react so strongly in front of Parker. Tony laid himself bare, like a man of confession, seeking Parker to relieve his guilt. But that didn’t make sense to Harley. The boy lied and betrayed Tony. The kidnapping and the murder was a fake in order to sell secrets to the Resistance. To the enemy. And Parker. The boy everyone deemed was the “favorite”, looked at Tony with fright before it morphed into anger.

Something else must have happened. Something more than a simple kidnapping attempt followed by a fake murder. That shock, relief, fear and anger shared between two went deeper than what the story told.

And Harley wanted to know what it was.

He ran his fingers through his hair, each tug making it messier and messier. “So… um…,” he muttered, trying to think what to ask. “You knew Parker well?”

Bishop shrugged. “Met the kiddo once. Nice kid. Kind, but… fidgety. A bundle of nervous energy, but I didn’t fault him for that. He nearly had his eye poked out when I met him.” Bishop saw Harley’s muddled face. “Two subordinates tried to intimidate him, but I put a stop to it. Which is more than what Rob did for the boy.”

“Whaddya mean?” Harley leaned forward in his chair, interest peaked. “What happened?”

“Oh… a lot of things happened,” Bishop answered. “Things Reynolds could have prevented, but, as I said,  _big ego_. Hates to share things and hates to be proven wrong.” He heaved a tired sigh, checking the windows. The night still dominated, but only for a few more hours. “You better go home. I’m sure Reynolds will have something for you to do tomorrow when you meet up with the Resistance.”

Harley dropped his head and groaned. He forgot. Without Parker in custody, Harley was still ball-and-chained with the Queens Resistance. Keep up the façade and go along with Jones’ stupid plans. He would rather skip the whole thing.

“I will, but… I think I’m going to check in with Tony,” Harley started, popping up from his seat to go to the doors.

“Stark doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Remember?” Bishop reminded him.

“I’m not going to talk strategy,” Harley promised. “I want to see if he’s doing okay. He didn’t look good up on the roof.”

Bishop’s gaze lingered on Harley for an uncomfortable second. The 'M' becoming more lowercase as the man narrowed his eyes at him. “You try too hard, kid.”

Harley couldn’t tell if Bishop was referring it as a joke or an insult. When it came to Tony, Harley constantly pushed himself to do his best. Performed better than anyone else. He needed to show Tony he could do everything. That Tony wasn’t wrong to take him under his wing. It wasn’t insulting to him when people tell him he tried too hard. It only reassured him that he was doing his best to support Tony and help preserve humanity.

Uncertain of Bishop’s tone, Harley dismissed his quip with a shrug. “Always,” he replied before he slipped out of the room to go find Tony.

* * *

_“Boss does not want to be disturbed.”_

It was the second time FRIDAY relayed that message to Harley as he tapped his foot in frustration. As cool and awesome having FRIDAY around, the AI gave Harley a lot of headaches. Sometimes, he truly believed she antagonized him on purpose, but Tony insisted that was not the case. FRIDAY could act a bit naïve and childish, but followed all her protocols. Protocols he established to keep everything running smoothly.

Still, Harley had a deep belief FRIDAY enjoyed denying him whatever request he asked.

“I’m not going to pester him,” Harley argued again to the ceiling. Always the ceiling. Always the white, blank space up near the elevators. “I want to check up on him. See that he’s okay.”

A short pause.

_“Boss does not want to be disturbed.”_

Harley groaned, hands clenched in fists at his side. “I know! But—like I said—I’m not going to ask him about… you know what? No, look here  _FRIDAY_ , Tony has been having a rough couple of months. And I don’t know if you know what happened tonight, but… Tony got hurt. Not in a physical, wound-like sense, but he was hurt. And I just want to see him and make sure he’s okay. All right? Can you let me see Tony? Make sure he’s doing okay. That’s all I ask.”

Another, but longer pause. The AI considering his request.

FRIDAY hummed to life.  _“Boss is down in his private workshop,”_  she passed on.  _“I can bring you up.”_

Harley breathed, relishing his triumph. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He walked into the open elevator, watching it close and sealing himself in. FRIDAY moved it, leading him up to Tony’s private workshop. Harley’s never seen it. No one has. Only a select few like Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts. Even Mr. Hogan, but Harley never got access to it. Not that he lingered at the Tower often. Harley stayed in either Queens or the Avengers Compound.

It still excited Harley that he got permission to go to the workshop. To see where Tony’s brilliant mind works and the creations that sprouted from mere, intelligent whims. When Tony showed up at his home, with an empty, broken suit, Harley dreamt of the possibility of building alongside the man. He got a taste for it when he was a boy, helping Tony reboot his Iron Man armor and being his guy in the chair. Sitting in his chair, next to the suit, eating candy from a bowl as he assisted Tony on finding the bad guy and saving the day. It was the greatest moment in his life.

Of course, Harley also remembered Tony suffering panic attacks, playing dead, discovering his girlfriend was captured and his best friend too. Harley recalled those wide, panicked eyes, the stuttering short breaths and the man’s rough fingers clasping onto his wrists to stop the shakes. Tony was far from home and alone when he met Harley, but Harley liked to believe that it was him who inspired Tony to get back up again. To keep up the fight.

After all, he did coach him out of a panic attack and got him to start building again.

The elevator slowed and Harley straightened up, moving closer to the doors right as the elevator stopped. The doors opened and Harley stepped out. Before him, a massive sprawl of equipment, computer screens, monitors and every unimaginable piece of technology at his disposable. It was like walking into Tony Stark’s mind! Magnificent and intimidating.

Although, as Harley took the moment to survey the workshop, it nothing like the one at the Compound. There was no display of Iron man suits, or center stage where Tony moved about, wearing hologram designs of his suit to find the right model. The Tower workshop was smaller. Objects and tools strewed everywhere in a barely controlled chaos, abandoned in piles alongside forgotten prototypes and memos. No display of any of the Iron Man suits either, but there were designs and engineering plans that wowed Harley enough to distract him.

It lured Harley to them, eyes widening and smile spreading as he examined the details. So many different ideas and thoughts. Harley checked out one design. It was for a suit, but it looked nothing like the ones Tony normally wore. It was slender. And bug-eyed. And the colors were red and blue.

Harley pursed his lips in thought, looking around for an explanation and only saw a small symbol down in the corner. He had seen that symbol before. In Tony’s office. A red-bordered hexagon inside another hexagon, with four lines attaching the two hexagons together. It reminded Harley of a spider. Like a black widow.

Underneath it, it read: WEB.

Maybe it was meant for Black Widow.

He got pulled away from his short-lived investigation when a voice carried overhead. It wasn’t FRIDAY. It was someone else. It sounded familiar to Harley. The voice sounded young and happy. Harley followed after the voice, making his way further into the workshop.

Then, the voice stopped. It changed. Harley instantly recognized the deep, but light and snarky tone. It was Tony.

A monitor blocked his view, so Harley moved around it and saw Tony. The great Tony Stark sat in a chair, slumped, and eyes distant. There was a cloudiness in those dark irises that made Harley invisible to Tony. Harley stopped, wanting to say something, but Tony kept talking. Except, Tony’s lips weren’t moving.

Brows furrowed in puzzlement, mouth downturned, until his eyes caught a flicker of light in the corner. A hologram screen was up, playing out a video of Tony and another individual with soft, brown curls, hunched over a workbench. Their backs were turned, unable to see their faces or even what they were working on, but Harley knew Tony. Even before the hologram-Tony popped his head up, moving around the hologram-workbench. Hologram-Tony was smiling. There was warmth in the man’s face, a satisfied peace as he spoke.

Then, the boy in the video looked up and Harley went cold.

It was Peter Parker.

_“Reflectors won’t work. That’s only good for camouflage. You gotta use another allotrope, like… graphene. That would be invisible.”_

“ _Invisible suit? Kid—the point of Iron Man is for it to be seen.”_

“ _But what about you, Mr. Stark?”_

_“Me?”_

Hologram-Peter nodded.  _“Yeah, I mean… no one will go up and fight Iron Man. But, they might go up and fight you.”_

_“I am Iron Man.”_

_“Not when you’re Tony Stark.”_

“What are you doing?”

Harley jumped. Tony’s sharp voice snapped Harley back to attention. Tony was on his feet, the chair rolled a foot away. He aggressively flicked his wrist in the direction of the hologram. The hologram recording evaporated. Disappeared. The voices died out in the echo.

Tony’s eyes blazed with fury. “How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded. “I told FRIDAY I wanted to be alone!”

Harley rarely ever saw Tony upset. Incense! The few times he did, it was never directed at him. Now, seeing the lightning in those eyes glare upon him, it was terrifying. Harley couldn’t stop the tremor going down his spine to his feet.

He swallowed, instinctively taking a step back. “Y-Yes, she did—I mean, she said that, but…” Harley sucked deep through his nose, chest quaking. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Tony eyed him. Those dark orbs cut into Harley, making him inwardly squirm. He blinked, as if it would change Tony’s expression. It didn’t. Tony still held a scolding look.

“Always,” the man uttered, and then he jerked a dismissive hand toward the door. “You can go.”

Harley considered falling back to the elevator, but as Tony flopped back onto the chair and dropped his head in his palm, he decided to stay. Brave against the fury. Tony would do it for him. Stay when it was obvious he needed someone. And Pepper Potts wasn’t here. Nor Colonel Rhodes.

That left Harley to bear the resistance and be there for him.

Harley approached slowly, stepping over a power cord. “It’s not your fault.”

Tony grunted from his seat. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give me pity,” Tony said through his covered face. He took a moment to breathe, to recompose before he sat up in his seat properly, turning to face Harley. “Or sympathy. Condolences. Any of that crap.”

“I was only—”

“I know what you’re trying to do, but don’t. Stop!” Tony ordered, turning back to his monitors’ screens to busy himself. Distract himself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Harley went silent, the awkwardness taking ahold of his mind and body. Harley had seen Tony frustrated, tired and somber, but never had he seen him like this. Defeated.

Parker didn’t beat him though. They had him cornered. They had him in their grasp, but the shot that rang out gave Parker the chance to escape. To use it to his advantage. It wasn’t Tony’s fault it all fell apart.

Harley didn’t like that Tony blamed himself for the failures of others.

“I know I don’t know much what’s going on between you and this… Parker fellow,” Harley started, earning a cold scrutinized look from Tony, “but… you shouldn’t blame yourself for what others decide to do. You trusted Peter and he lied to you. You did everything you could—”

Tony shot a hand up. “Stopping you there,” he said, crossing his arms and scowling. “You’re right. You don’t know what happened. You see—I didn’t do everything I could. I fucked up.”

He got out of the chair and took a step forward. “All of this is my fault—no, don’t contradict me. Okay? Don’t,” he snapped, a finger jabbed in Harley’s direction. “Remember—you don’t know!”

Harley closed his mouth, and listened on. Tony sucked in a deep breath, his face mellowing out into a more somber stance. Lines creased along his forehead, making him appear older, tired.

Tony rubbed his wrists again, taking deep breaths. Like he did back in Tennessee. Right before he collapsed on the snowy sidewalk, trembling and gasping.

“Everything that has happened,” Tony’s voice fumbled the words, softly croaking as he kept a grip on his right wrist, “it’s on me. No one else. Just me. I cursed this damn planet.”

He turned away again, his back facing Harley. He picked up something from his workbench. A photograph. Tony stared at it for a moment, took a breath, and then averted his eyes elsewhere, dropping it back on the table, face down. Something odd passed over the man’s eyes, but it didn’t linger long enough for Harley to get a better understanding.

“I had big plans for the future,” Tony carried on, sniffling a bit. He shut his eyes and opened them again, strained, but no tears. “It was going to be great. The world was going to be so much better and…” He flapped up his hands, “well… it went to shit.”

Tony went back to his chair and pulled himself up to his workbench, lifting the hologram screens back up. Going back to the drawing board. Back to work.

“Go home, kid,” Tony finally said. “It’s late. I have things I need to do and I don’t want to be bothered.”

Harley’s stomach dropped. The easy dismissal hurt, but Harley schooled his face to show nothing. “Um… okay,” he said. “I guess I’ll… just go.”

He pivoted to leave, but stopped, craning his neck to look back toward Tony. “Just so you know, though, you didn’t curse this damn planet,” he said, gathering Tony’s attention again. “If anything, you’re the best damn thing that has ever happened to it.”

Tony dropped his hands on the workbench. “Keener—”

“No! You got your five minutes and now I want mine!” Harley shouted, shocking Tony to reel back from his outburst. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I want you to understand that not everything is your fault. Shit happens.

“Look at me,” Harley gestured to himself. “My dad up and left. My mom’s a bitch. And I’m living my best life because of  _you_. So many people are living their best life because you stepped up when we needed someone.

“The Decimation… it was awful,” Harley couldn’t forget that day. No one could. The terror, the horror, the panic as people all around the world fluttered out of existence. People frantic and scared, wondering what was happening. Who was going next? “People were… gone. Countries, governments, communities in ruins and… you stepped up.

“You didn’t have to. But you did anyway, because that’s  _who you are_ ,” Harley beseeched, hoping his words penetrated Tony’s hard exterior. “You’re a hero! You’re my hero. You saved me, and sometimes, that’s enough to change the world for the better.

“The Avengers are gone and… all this world has is you,” Harley saw the grimace in Tony’s face. An ache that rippled through the man, a stinging reminder of the civil war that left the Avengers broken. His friends separated and now dead. “And, honestly? That’s all the world needs. Knowing you are here, and that you are leading us out of this mess. If it was anyone else, I would think we were screwed, but it’s you, Tony. People know they’re safe with you. That their future is hopeful. They trust you because, well...

“Iron Man always saves the day.”

Harley thought—or hoped—his speech would rally a smile or a spark of appreciation in Tony. But all he got in return was a sad expression. Even though Tony held up a smile, Harley knew it was a fake. Only plastered on Tony’s face for his benefit. Behind that smile, that mask, was guilt, which crawled underneath the man’s skin.

“That was more than five minutes,” Tony jested, but it felt flat. “But, um, thanks for the pep talk. Unnecessary, though.”

“Just telling the truth.” And it was the truth. Tony had to see how much he meant to the world. What he meant to the millions of people who survived the Decimation. Tony was their white knight (or, red and gold knight in his case). He’s their savior. The hero they could depend on to save them from catastrophes.

Tony unceremoniously lifted his brow at Harley’s response, followed with a tiny, contemptuous scoff. “The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world,” he muttered, to which Harley cocked his head, perplexed by the meaning. “It’s a quote,” he explained. “It’s… its nothing. Don’t give yourself a headache over it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Harley said, walking over to the workbench. “But, really, Tony. You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. Especially with what happened with Parker. And, yeah, I know I don’t know  _everything_  that happened, but… things will turn around. We’ll catch him again. Never confuse a  _single_   _defeat_  with a  _final_   _defeat_. That’s a quote too.”

“F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Tony said with a confirmed nod that he knew he was right. “I know.”

Harley leaned up against the workbench, checking out the tools and prototypes strewed over the surface. He reached over, about to pluck one up when Tony’s hand snatched it and moved it out of arm’s reach in a second.

“Ah-Ah… no. Don’t touch it,” he warned. “Don’t touch anything here, okay?”

Harley retracted his hand. “Sorry.”

Tony streamed out an exhausted breath, dragging more items away from Harley’s reach. “It’s okay. Just… don’t touch.”

Harley’s heart shuddered a whimper, disappointed at being scolded. Harley wasn’t an idiot. He built things in his spare time too. But, Harley forgave Tony. Maybe the items on the table were far more dangerous than Harley figured.

Harley forced it to the back of his mind and pushed up a smile. He had a string of hope he wanted to share with Tony. A silver lining in this dismal point of the night. “So, um… I have a proposition for you,” he said. “It’s about Parker and how we can find him. Lure him out from whatever rock he’s hiding underneath.”

Tony paused in his movements, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s easy,” Harley assured him, thinking of all the ways they could easily carry out the plan. “All we have to do is raid the Queens Resistance, hold Jones and Ned—”

Tony immediately shook his head, a deep frown contorting his drawn face. “No! Absolutely not.”

“But—Parker would come for his friends if he knew they were in trouble! Like he did for Jones at the warehouse. It’s the easiest and quickest way to capture him,” Harley insisted. “Plus, it’s killing two birds with one stone. We capture Parker. Take out the Queens Resistance—”

“I don’t care!” Tony blew up, getting far more short-tempered again. “I never gave a damn about those Resistance cells! All I care about is ensuring a better future. And that starts by not using people as bait to coerce others to do our bidding.”

“But—”

“The answer is no, Harley. No!” Tony repeated, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, heaving an aggravated sigh. “A thousand times no. I have no interest in threatening barely aged adults. So, stop suggesting it.”

“Okay, okay,” Harley backed off, feeling sullen. It wasn’t a crazy idea! Or anything horrific. He wasn’t asking for them to be tortured. Just… hold them in a cell or something until Parker surrendered. “Guess we can always wait another thirty days until Parker pops his head up from whatever underground lair he’s living in.”

Tony went to scoff with his own retort at Harley’s sarcasm, but came up short. His eyes widened. The clogs in his mind turning, clinking away into some realization. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured and he bustled out of his seat to another station.

Harley nearly spun in a circle to follow after him. “Tony?” he said. “What is it? Was it something I said?”

Tony didn’t hear him. Maybe couldn’t even hear him. The man strode across the workshop, hands busy as he turned on different thing and changed holo-screens. Harley watched in awe as things flipped in and out of existence before him. He wondered what Tony was doing. What he was thinking?

He moved closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what Tony searched, but it must have caught the man’s attention. “Best you head home now, kid,” he said, ushering Harley back to the elevator. “FRIDAY? Lobby please?”

_“Certainly, boss!”_

“And then get me Happy Hogan.”

“ _On it, boss!”_

The elevator opened and before Harley knew it, Tony gave him a little shove. He stumbled in, turning around quick to ask Tony what was happening. But, Tony already walked away and the doors closed on him.

Well, that could have gone better.

* * *

Harley took the subway home. No cab. He didn’t have money on him, and no one would lend him any. Too busy trying to recover from tonight’s awful twist. He hugged the pole, swaying to the turns as the subway maneuvered underground, towards his lousy apartment.

His thoughts busied, distracted. He was so close to winning Tony’s favor, but lost it. Whatever he said, it initiated something within Tony. The man ignored Harley, brushing him aside in dismissal after he ran off somewhere, leaving Harley confused and hurt.

Climbing out of the subway station and heading to his apartment, Harley’s frustration fumed. He blamed Parker. The boy left Tony damaged, scarred. Harley may not know the whole story, but he understood the hurt bleeding out of Tony’s eyes. Something happened between Tony and Parker, and no one was willing to talk about it. Not even Tony.

The official story was the boy was kidnapped from Tony, taken and, supposedly. murdered because of him. But, seeing what occurred on the rooftop and Tony’s reaction, Harley began to think there was more to the story. No, he  _knew_  there was more to the story.

He trudged up the three flight of stairs to his apartment, too tired to bother keeping his movements quiet. Keys jingled as he unlocked his door, hurrying inside to get to his bed faster. He dumped his keys and dropped his phone on the side table, unbuttoning his jeans to kick them off as he made his way to his bedroom.

“There you are!”

Harley jumped, letting out a cursed breath. He pulled away, eyes fluttering about as he processed the danger in front of him.

Michelle Jones stood right in front of his opened bedroom door. 

"Wha... What the—" Harley stammered in fright. His heart raced extraordinary fast that his lungs barely kept up. " _What the hell, Jones_?"

"I'm sorry," Jones said, but sounded unapologetic. “I tried to call you and… I knocked, but you weren't here and I... I didn't know where else to take him."

"What?" Harley tilted his head, trying to peer around Jones to see. Something was on his bed. 

Harley strode across his living room, straight to the door. He forced Jones aside, barging into his own room with thunderous stomps. Jones pivoted out of the way, but stayed where she stood, giving Harley enough berth to enter and see who took over his bed. 

The world swallowed Harley whole. All the air sucked right out of him as he gaped at the figure laying on his bedsheets. 

It was Peter Parker.

And he was bleeding. 


	8. Harley Meet Peter

“What the fuck? What the _actual_ _fuck_?”

It was all Harley thought. Repeatedly. What else could he say? The boy everyone was searching for lay on his bed, bleeding all over his sheets. And Jones stood nearby, looking worried and frazzled. Her hair was all over her face, the curls frizzing and untamed. She kept sucking on her lower lip, hands fidgeting at her side.

“I know. I know,” Jones said to quell Harley. “But… I didn’t know where else to take him.”

“How about a hospital?” Harley remarked, pissed that Parker’s blood polluted his expensive bedsheets. Hundred dollar sheets... destroyed!

Jones shook her head, making her hair even more unruly. “No—they’ll find him there!”

He knew who Jones was referring to. SHIELD. Shadow Company. Basically everyone within Stark's employment was on high alert for Peter Parker, and here he was, right in Stark’s best agent’s home. Wounded and helpless. 

Harley almost wanted to snort at the incredulity of it all. Jones brought Parker right into the lion's den in fear of being dragged there himself by lions. Stupid girl, he thought. Her erroneous decision led to Harley's greatest achievement.

When he spotted her looking at him, brows knitting together, he closed down his emotions. He bit back his grin and swallowed his laughter to avoid blowing his cover. He couldn't let Jones be aware of his allegiance and lose his rebel alias.

He schooled his face to look confused, suspicious and curious. “Who’ll find him?"

“No one,” Jones deflected. “That’s why I brought him here. They won’t find him here.”

“Again, who’s ‘they’ and who the hell is he?” Harley jerked his head down to Parker. “Is he the same guy from—”

"He's no one," Jones cut him off, insistent in not answering. She reached down beside the bed and grabbed her bag. "Just let him stay here for like an hour or so. I have to run and get supplies."

"Wait—you’re leaving?"

"Yeah, because you are sorely lacking in basic first aid," Jones remarked, slugging the bag over her shoulder. "You don't even have Band-Aids. Did you know that?"

"Kleenex and scotch tape." And also, SHIELD took care of all his medical needs, but Harley didn't include that tidbit. "You need to take him to an actual doctor, Michelle. He's... look at him! Let me call and maybe—"

He made a move to pull out his phone, but she snatched his wrist and her fingers pinched hard right on the bone.

"Don’t call anyone!"

He wrenched his hand out of her grip, frowning at the red imprints she left on his skin. Maybe it was a good idea to let her leave before he called SHIELD and let them know he had Parker. Or maybe, Harley paused as he reconsidered his options.  It wouldn't be too hard to knock Jones unconscious and call in the troops. Or, better yet, call Tony Stark. With both the rebel leader and Parker in custody, Harley would be a hero. A distinguished agent of SHIELD. 

And he pictured Tony, wearing a great smile on his face, loop his arm around Harley’s shoulders in fatherly affection presenting him an Iron armor suit of his own. To fight right by Tony’s side.

The excitement grew. A strange, but light clarity came to his mind as he saw the fantasy begin to shape into his reality.

“What if I get the supplies?” Harley offered, the praises lingering in his head. “That way you can look after… _him_ and I can, you know, buy some Band-Aids without drawing suspicion from the neighbors.”

Jones’s arms folded across her chest. Head cocked and eyebrows drawn into a queer furrow. “Why would I draw suspicion?” she questioned. “Is it because I’m black?”

“What?” Harley was appalled by the offensive accusations. “No! Jesus— _wow_. You really think that low of me?”

She lifted a single brow. “No, but you think that low of other people.”

Harley was taken aback, staring at Jones with sick disbelief. He did not look down on others. If anything, everyone looked down at him! A hick. White-collar trash. Hillbilly. Jones was sorely mistaken if he ever treated anyone less.

“I don’t, but whatever,” Harley buried his anger to move past it. “ _Anyway_ , what I meant was that having a girl come and go from my apartment might make the neighbors noticed.”

Jones snorted, amused. “Please—you have girls coming and going all the time,” she commented. “You’re not exactly a ‘relationship guy’, so it’s not going to be weird. Besides, I know a place that can give me free supplies. Not too far from here, actually. So, I’ll be back before you know it.”

She turned away from him and squatted beside Parker, pushing his messy hair aside. She whispered to him, words Harley struggled to hear, but it was the opportunity he needed to set things in motion. If he got his phone out, he could alert Tony of his captured bounty. In a matter of minutes, Iron Man and SHIELD agents would storm the apartment to arrest them. 

His hand sunk into his pocket, expecting the cool touch of his phone screen. He felt nothing, but harsh fabric. He dipped further down. Still nothing.

Pupils dilated, he shoved his other hand into his next pocket. It came up empty too. He didn’t have his phone on him. His brain synapses fired up, a combustion of questions and fear consuming everything. Where did he leave it? Did he drop it? Did he—

Jones suddenly stood and Harley flung his hands behind his back as she addressed him.

“Check on him again. Make sure to staunch the blood,” she instructed. “I wrapped it in a washcloth when we got here, but… yeah, just make sure he doesn’t bleed out more and don’t let him move around.”

“Y-yeah.” Harley rolled his lips and gave a firm nod. “Okay.”

Satisfied with the answer, Jones maneuvered around him to go to the door. Harley followed her, still contemplating on whether to knock her out or not when he spotted his phone. It was on the side table, the screen facing up. And a blue light continuously blinked, alerting to him he received a message. Or a phone call.

Jones got to the door and cracked it open. She checked the hallway, using her phone’s camera before opening it all the way.

“No nosey neighbors,” Jones smirked at him, briefly, before it morphed into that terrifying scowl. “But seriously, don’t let anyone come through this door. Only me. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Harley said feet gliding to the side table, blocking the view of his phone from Jones. “Open only if they give the secret knock.”

“Harley—”

“Kidding, Michelle!” Harley faked a smile. “I’ll make sure your mystery friend here doesn’t die.”

“Check the wound again. It may need to be bandaged again before I get back.”

“Roger, roger.”

Jones frowned at the mockery affirmation, but left without another reprimand or more instructions. Door closed, Harley hurried to bolt, locking him inside the apartment that even Jones couldn’t walk back in. Not without busting down the door.

He twisted around and snatched up his phone. With a single touch of his finger, the phone came alive, revealing his notifications. Two missed calls and eight new messages. He ignored them in favor of dialing up Tony’s number. He dragged his finger to open a call to Tony, ready to hit the dial button.

“W-Where did MJ go?”

Harley shot up into the air, phone jumbling in his hands until it clattered to the floor in a loud shattering crack. It sounded horrific that Harley couldn’t stop himself from flinching. Oh God, he inwardly groaned. Did he break it? He morosely stared down at the floor where his phone laid, a crack across his screen.

Oh God! Please don’t be broken. Please don’t be broken. It can’t be broken.

He scooped it up, checking the device. The screen got hammered. It was all blurry, but he managed to see the icons on his phone well enough to use. He wondered if the touchscreen was useable.

“Is your phone okay?” came the same voice that startled him.

Harley glimpsed to the bedroom doorway. Standing up, but leaning heavily against the doorframe was Peter Parker.

The fugitive looked sicklier than when he lay in bed. His skin stretched over his hollow cheeks and his sunken eyes were half-hooded, enduring the pain he carried. His shoulder bulged out from underneath his shirt. Harley saw a sliver of cloth sticking out from the shirt’s collar. It must be the washcloth Jones used to stop the bleeding. It was red. A little too much red for comfort.

But, Parker didn’t care. He took another step, away from the door and his support. “Is it broken?” he asked, indicating to the phone in Harley’s hand.

Harley glanced back at his cracked phone. “Um… just cracked a little,” he answered, hiding it in his pocket. “Err… you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Parker frowned, befuddled. “I got a bedtime now?”

“You’re injured.” Harley gestured to the bulge on his shoulder.

Parker checked his shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed, scanning the apartment. Searching for someone. “Where’s MJ? Did she go? I thought… did she leave?”

“She went to get Band-Aids,” Harley couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Parker. The last time he attempted to talk to him, he was ignored. “Um… I didn’t get to introduce myself to you last time,” he said, walking up to Parker and sticking out a hand to him. “I’m Harley.”

Parker’s eyebrows furrowed in quizzical manner, so Harley elaborated for him.

“We met at the warehouse by the river?” Harley tried to jog Parker’s memory. “It was a trap. I got the shit kicked out of me. You saved Michelle and I… ring any bells?”

Recognition lit up in Parker’s eyes. “Oh, yeah… Harley.”

“Yep.”

Harley waited for Parker to share his name. Not that he needed to, but Harley waited. Parker offered no exchange.

“So, um… what’s your name?” Harley prompted him instead. “Kind of like to know my guest’s name. And hero too, so I can properly thank them for saving my ass.”

“Oh, um, Peter,” Parker replied, awkward. “… sorry, I’m not used to doing this.”

“Doing what? Saying your name?”

“Yeah.”

Harley found Parker to be weird. He studied the boy in front of him again. Nothing impressionable as like last time. Fragile, pale and an overall daisy of an individual. Granted, the boy had some gifts. He saw him evade capture and knew he had strange abilities, but many do. Harley worked and sometimes trained alongside enhanced individuals who could bench press eight hundred pounds, turned their whole body into a fireball and another who could run across the continent in five minutes. So, beg his pardon, but Harley struggled to see what the commotion was in regards to Parker. He looked average. Plain and boring.

What was it about Parker that intrigued Tony?

The longer the silence, the more awkward it became. Harley was unsure of what to do with Parker. He needed to alert Tony and the others, but with Parker awake, that thwarted any hope to do it now. It would have to wait. Eventually, Parker would pass out again. He hoped.

“We should get you back to the bed,” Harley insisted, walking over to drag Parker back to the bedroom. “You need to rest.”

Parker jerked away from Harley’s hand, sliding back from within reach. “No!”

“No?”

“I-I… I don’t want to sleep,” Parker spluttered, looking from Harley and then to the door. “I—when’s MJ coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“She didn’t say?”

Harley rocked his head, thinking. “Maybe… in an hour?”

Parker blew out a steam of air, checking his surroundings again. He nervously eyed every inch of the living room, uneasy where he stood. Fidgeting in the uncertainty of this new place. And of Harley. He could tell by Parker’s constant distrustful glances in his direction. Not that Parker was wrong to not trust him. They weren’t on the same side. Although, Parker didn’t know that, nor did he need to know.

Right now, Harley needed to get Parker to relax and trust him long enough to report back to headquarters. He saw the couch. If Parker wasn’t interested in the bed, maybe the couch would be better for him.

“Err… you wanna sit?” Harley offered. Maybe the boy would drift off into slumber if he sat down on the couch. “You look about ready to pass out.”

Parker looked to the couch, thinking, before he agreed. His feet smacked the floor as he tottered to the couch and lowered himself onto the cushion. He carefully leaned back, wincing a bit as he adjusted his injured arm to lay on the armrest.

Harley rounded the couch, playing the part of a concerned host. “You okay? Need anything?”

Parker shook his head. Harley moved around to sit on the other end of the couch. He kept a good distance in case Parker went berserk. Harley had no interest in getting sucker-punched. He observed the boy struggling to be comfortable and relaxed, finding it impossible with the injury.

Stupid boy, Harley thought. Would have been easier on him if he surrendered. He wouldn’t have the bloody wound if he did.

It was just him and Parker now. No one else. The two of them alone in a room. Perfect to dig a little deeper into this mysterious fugitive everyone at the Tower gossiped about. Time to prod Parker and figure out what made him so goddamn special to everyone back at headquarters. Especially to Tony Stark.

He had time. Jones wasn’t going to come back any time soon, and Parker was weak enough to not resist when the time came to be detained. Harley had it all under control, so sparing a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

“So… who wants you dead?” Harley offered as small talk, warming himself up before he got into more gritty questions.

“Nobody,” Parker replied with a strained breath as he continued to adjust himself on the cushion.

Harley cocked an eyebrow, his gaze on the wound. “The blood says otherwise.”

“Oh… that?” Peter dipped his head to see his injury. “A case of mistaken identity.”

“Someone tried to kill you because you look like another person?”

Parker shrugged with his good shoulder. “I guess I have one of those faces.”

Harley snorted to cover up his exasperations. “You don’t have to tell me your secrets, but at least let me know if I should be expecting a mob at my door or not.”

“You’re safe,” Peter assured with a tired breath.

“Good to know.” Harley nodded, but then cleared his throat. “So, um… I don’t see you around at headquarters. Are you a leader of another resistance group?”

Parker threw him a look. “…no.”

“Oh, you’re a member of our team then?”

“No.”

His one-worded responses agitated Harley. He bristled in his seat cushion. He never had much trouble prying information from all of his buddies back in the Resistance. Even Ned Leeds was a chatterbox when Harley got him wound up. To think, he believed Jones was a hard nut to crack! Having a simple conversation with Parker was the equivalent of pulling teeth. It drove Harley mad! Did he know any other words in the English language? What was his deal? If he won’t respond to easy, simple questions, how the hell was Harley going to learn anything useful?

He drew in a breath, alleviating the stress pounding in his head. “Okay, then, how do you know Michelle… or is it MJ?” he questioned, remembering Parker called Jones that nickname. “How did you two meet?”

“She sat next to me.”

Harley waited for him to continue, only to remember Parker’s vow of speaking as little as possible. The boy was obsessed with privacy. Not surprising considering he’s a fugitive.

Harley perked up a sly smile, fronting up with a jokingly demeanor. “And then you became fast friends, huh?” he said. “Cool. Hard to meet people like that these days. Surprised she didn’t try to recruit you to the team. You were pretty badass that night.”

Parker’s mouth twitched almost up in a smile before he quietly shook his head.

“Hey, man, why aren’t you in the Resistance? If you don’t mind me asking,” Harley asked, curious as to why Parker wouldn’t be working full-time in the Resistance. “Could really use the extra help. And, you seem to know a lot about what’s going on in that Tower. You could be a major asset in helping us.”

Parker looked uncomfortable. “Oh… I, um, have my own problems to deal with.”

“Like your case of mistaken identity? Yeah, I would say so,” Harley quipped, a teasing smile as he flourished a wave to the injured shoulder. “If you got people shooting at you, I would say it’s a problem.”

“I guess.”

Parker fell quiet again. Still not much of a talker. Harley pondered what more he could ask of the boy. What secrets he could extract with careful plotting? Like how the hell did Parker find out about the trap at Geffen-Meyers?

Harley still clung onto the belief Parker had an inside source. A mole within the SHIELD ranks. People who liked him from his stay in the Compound, helping him by feeding the boy with secrets and information. It wasn’t a far fetch theory. There was no way Parker would know so much about their operations. He hadn’t been associated with them for three years and yet, Parker knew of the Negative Zone and its location. He knew of its impenetrable security. He knew of the CID system they had to track people. And Parker escaped, undetected, from SHIELD and Iron Man on that rooftop tonight…

Shit. A mole! Someone _was_ helping him from the inside. But, who could it be? His immediate thoughts went to Luke and Jack. Those two were persistent in stopping the investigation. They fought hard against having Shadow Company join in on the investigation. And they never stopped belittling everything Harley presented as evidence of Parker’s existence. Harley also noted their absences when the whole rooftop situation occurred. The last time he saw them, Luke and Jack hopped into another car. He hadn’t seen them since.

Time to be more aggressive with his questioning.

Harley straightened his back, squared his shoulders and turning in his seat to look at Parker in the eye. “Still—you should consider joining the team,” he went on. “Would be great having someone like you around.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed, questioning. “Someone like me?”

“Yeah, you know… with all your information about the Tower. It came in handy for us. Do you have more?” Harley asked, digging deeper, wanting to find the link. “It would go a long way in helping us take Tony Stark—”

Parker feverishly shook his head. “No! No, I… I-I don’t know anything. I know nothing.”

“You know something. You told us about the Negative Zone. About the CID. You must know more.”

“I don’t know anything,” Parker gritted, shuffling and turning his face away from Harley. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“Don’t want to get involved? Dude—aren’t you, though?” Harley volleyed back. “I mean, you fought off those agents and you told us about their operations… I mean, you’re kind of already involved.”

“That’s not—I… I…” Parker struggled, getting more fidgety in his gestures, until he clenched his fist and willed control. “I’m not involved. I want no part in it.”

Harley raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine! You’re not involved,” he grumbled. “Can you at least tell me where you got your sources then? You know, like how you found out we were walking into a trap that night? Maybe they could help us since you don’t want to.”

Parker’s breathing became heavy, cautious. Harley caught a sliver of anxiety in those wide eyes before they darted away.  “T-There isn’t anyone. I was… I-I just walked by,” he said. “Saw the agents and… I helped.”

“Just walked by?”

“Yep.”

“Taking an evening stroll?”

Parker fidgeted, hands going to his lap. “Yep.”

“What about the Negative Zone? How did you hear about that?”

Something came over Parker. A silent panic gripped him. “F-From somewhere… heard it somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” Harley didn’t quite believe him. “Where? Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You gotta know.”

“I don’t.”

Harley wanted to call bullshit. Wanted to shake the confession out of Parker’s mouth, but he restrained himself. “How do you not know?” he grilled the boy, demanding an explanation. “What are you hiding?”

Parker said nothing. A tremor ran through him. His breaths became labored, like he was drowning. Water in his lungs. Parker stared straight ahead, unseeing, lost in something dark. Something that frightened him enough.

Harley gently poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, you okay, man?”

Parker came back to life, to this reality. He shook his head, curling in on himself. “I don’t want to talk about it! I’m done talking about it,” he asserted. “I…I don’t know anything more, okay? I can’t help you!”

Harley backed off. Parker acted like a frightful animal, back into a corner, ready to snap at any fingers that came close. An unmistaken rawness in the boy’s voice that could not be missed when he spoke. Harley bent his head down, trying to grab Parker’s attention, but the boy paid no heed to him. Too busy warming his hands in his shirt to shake off whatever chill bothered him. His eyes looked hollow, melancholy, as he got lost in his own thoughts. Almost like the boy was drifting away…

Harley glimpsed back to the wound on his shoulder. It was getting redder. Too red. Parker would most likely pass out. And while it would be great for Parker to be unconscious when the team arrived, he couldn’t risk Parker dying from massive blood loss. That wouldn’t do him any good if Parker died on him.

“You don’t look so good,” remarked Harley.

Parker’s breath was tight. “Been through worse.”

What was worse than being shot? Harley checked him over again. Blood soaked into the sleeves, spreading outward from the dark hole in his shirt. Was the bullet still lodged in? Or was it a clean shot? Bullseye was a great sniper. The best in the agency. Probably a clean shot. Through and through. It would explain the massive blood loss and Parker’s paling features.

He didn’t lie to Jones when he suggested Parker needed a doctor. The boy was knocking on Death’s door. While he personally cared little if Parker lived or died, he knew the mission was to bring him in alive. Not dead. And Harley figured he learned enough about Parker. The boy was being uncooperative. Uninterested, so Harley felt no need to continue their talk any longer.

It was time to let the others know what he had, and to alert them to bring medical.

Harley rose up from the couch. “I think your bandage needs changing,” he said, gesturing to the shoulder injury. He moved around the couch, subtly padding his hand against his pocket. He felt the hard form of his phone. “Try not to move. I’ll be back.”

Harley backed into his bedroom, heading to the bathroom to grab another washcloth. Once inside the bathroom and double-checking Parker didn’t follow, he pulled out his broken phone. The screen stayed disoriented with all the jagged cracks and fuzzy background, but Harley managed and tapped on the Messenger icon. It pulled up, listing off his previous contacts and their texts. Harley ignored them all. He drafted a new message, typing fast to alert Tony Stark and Reynolds of the good news.

_I have Parker. He’s at my apartment. Come ASAP. Bring medic._

Messages sent. Harley relaxed. In a matter of minutes, Tony or SHIELD would arrive to arrest Parker. Send him straight to the Hole for violating the Accords, espionage and terrorism.

Until then, Harley needed to keep Parker occupied. Unaware of his fate. Along with keeping him alive too.

He pocketed his phone, opening up the cupboards underneath the sink to find his linens. He grabbed another washcloth and returned to the living room. Parker craned his neck back, over the couch to see Harley approach with a cleaned washcloth for his wound.

“Hope you like black,” Harley commented, maneuvering his way around the side table to get to Parker’s injured shoulder. “It’s all I have left.”

“S-Sorry,” Parker said, glancing to the bloody spot on his shirt that doubled in size. “You d-don’t-don’t have to replace it. It’s fine. It’s… it’s okay. I’ll heal.”

Harley rolled his eyes at Parker’s stammering nonsense. “Yeah—only after you visit a doctor.”

He pulled the coffee table to sit down. He made a gesture with his hand, signaling for Parker to take off his shirt. The soiled shirt needed to go in order for Harley to get a better look at the wound.

Parker did as told with no complaints (thank god!) and when the shirt lifted, Harley crinkled up his nose at the sight of the blood soaked rag. He ripped off the hack-taped job Jones did, not caring if he wasn’t delicate. He heard Parker hiss, but the boy said nothing. Good, Harley thought. It was what he deserved for making Harley and everyone run in circles.

Grabbing the edges of the cloth that were unsoiled, he removed the rag.

Harley blenched. The bullet wound was small, somewhat ragged around the edges. Despite its size, it oozed with dark, congealing blood, unlike what Harley was used to seeing in bullet wounds. And there was a putrid smell that made him gag a bit. It confounded him that Parker hadn’t passed out from the stench alone. God—he needed to throw a bucket of soapy water over him. Had he ever heard of a shower?

“Jesus Christ,” Harley muttered, putting down the clean washcloth on the table. “Okay—you _definitely_ need to see a doctor.”

Parker adamantly shook his head. “No doctors.”

“It looks infected.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Not unless death gets you first.”

Parker sheepishly looked away and mumbled something, probably another apology, but Harley didn’t give a damn. It was a good thing the cavalry were on their way. A washcloth wasn’t going to prevent the stupid boy from dying. Especially when the bullet was still in him. There was no exit wound, and Harley didn’t have the proper equipment to remove it. All he could do was bandage him until someone from medic arrived to take over.

Harley huffed as he got up again. “Well, if you’re so damn insistent, then stay there,” he ordered. “I’ll be back.”

Parker’s eyes trailed after him. “Where’re you going?”

“I think I have some leftover alcohol in the fridge,” Harley answered as he went to the kitchen to grab what was left of the gin. “And you’re gonna need a new shirt.”

Harley grabbed the leftover gin he found. It pained him to waste it, but whatever. With his next pay raise, he could buy thousands of the expensive gin. Treat himself to a victory drink. He carried it in the crook of his elbow as he opened the drawer in his kitchen, pulling out duct tape and Chinese take-out napkins. Gathering the items in his arms, he went to his bedroom to grab a random shirt. It was a plain undershirt. Parker didn’t deserve to ruin any of his good shirts.

He came back, dumping it on the table as he retook his seat on it. He scooted to the edge, checking the wound to decide the next, best step.

Parker eyed him warily. “Y-You know what you’re doing?”

“I’m from the South,” Harley replied in full confidence. “I know a thing or two about bullet wounds.”

That intrigued Parker. The boy’s eyes fluttered, eyebrows rising a bit as he regarded him. “The South? What brings you to New York?” he asked as Harley poured some gin on the napkins. “Family?”

“Work.”

Harley began to dab the wound to wipe the blood away. Parker hissed. Immediately, he twisted at the sudden burning sensation the gin caused on the wound. Teeth gritting to hold back a louder scream, Parker’s face contorted in uncontrollable distress.

Harley removed the gin-soaked napkins from the wound. “Guess I should say it was going to hurt.”

“It-It’s okay... it’s okay,” Parker grunted through the pain, forcing himself to relax. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Harley chuckled, knowing the boy lied through his teeth. He reached back for the gin and passed it to Parker. “Drink. It may help tolerate the pain better.”

“I… I don’t drink.”

“Really?”

“I’m nineteen.”

Oh my fucking God, Harley groaned loudly in his head. What a prune! It perplexed Harley as to why Tony Stark was fond of the boy. Parker was a plain, boring boy with no imagination or excitement. The complete opposite of Tony.

“Jesus—I’m not a cop. Won’t turn you in,” Harley shoved the bottle to Parker. “Here—have a sip.”

Parker was hesitant. He didn’t take the gin. Prude boy.

Harley heaved an exasperated sigh. “You won’t get fucked if you have one sip.”

“I know that,” Parker frowned, suddenly determined. His words must have insulted Parker because the boy snatched the bottle out of Harley’s hand. His face hardened with determination to prove something to Harley.

Harley reclined and watched Parker tipped the gin bottle over his lips. Parker’s throat gulped, the clear liquor dropping into the back of his throat. Then, Parkers eyes bulged for a moment. He lurched forward, the bottle removed away from his mouth, spilling a little over the boy’s lips and chin. Harley reached for it, holding it as Parker gagged, hacked and heaved in fresh air to cool his most-likely burning throat.

Harley waited a moment until Parker caught his breath. “You’re not supposed to chug it.”

Parker’s chest heaved and he gave a final cough to clear his throat. “God—that burned!” he rasped. “And it tasted like, like _pine_!”

“Yep. Most people mix it with tonic water, but others do it straight.”

Parker was flabbergasted, forehead wrinkled in pure disgust at the bottle. “You drink this?”

“It’s a required taste,” Harley settled the bottle down beside him. “But, hey! Look at you. Had your first taste of alcohol. Whatcha think?”

“I think it tasted like pine.”

Harley laughed. “Probably should have started you off on something small. Like a PBR or a Bud Light, but, eh, whatever.”

Parker wasn’t amused as he tried to recover from his mistake. Harley patted his knee in good spirits before he went back to cleaning the wound. This time around, Parker didn’t wrench away. He dabbed the edges of the wound, the blood spreading throughout the napkin. He had to continuously douse new napkins to replace the bloody ones, but eventually the area around the wound was cleaned enough to start patching.

Parker watched it all in silence until Harley asked him to hold the washcloth to the wound. “So… you fix a lot of bullet wounds?”

“No. Not normally,” Harley answered, before he ripped off a piece of duck-tape with his teeth. “But, I know some first aid.”

“Because you’re from the South, who now works in Queens.”

“Yep.”

“What kind of work?”

“You’re suddenly talkative,” Harley commented, ripping off another piece of tape. He finally hooked Parker. Took a few tries, but the boy became more relaxed around him, face softening as they conversed and mended. The boy unwound himself, slipping further into vulnerability. Right where Harley wanted the boy to be. All it took was Harley to feed him some minor background information and Parker was putty in Harley’s hands.  

“What?” Harley followed up, enticing Parker to continue the conversation. “My life interests you or something?”

“Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.”

Harley heard Parker bleakly laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told that,” he said. “No, I just… I don’t know a lot of people who aren’t from the city. Kind of… _ow!_ (“My bad,” Harley said, moving away from the tender skin). It’s—it’s okay. Um…, eh, anyway, k-kind of interests me as to what brings people here. To New York. Especially after… well, after—

“The Decimation?” Harley filled in for him, and when Parker silently nodded, continued, “Yeah, well, that’s one of the reasons why I came here. Lots of job openings suddenly became available.”

Harley removed Parker’s fingers from the spot he wanted to put the first strip of duct tape. He measured it before slapping it on, stretching it up and over the shoulder onto the shoulder blade. The washcloth held in place.

Parker moved his entire hand away. “So… what do you do here in the city?”

“Tech.”

“Like Google?”

“Spectrum.”

Awkwardness passed Parker’s face. Being a New Yorker all his life, he knew of the cable’s poor reputation. “Oh, that’s um… great. Good—”

“It sucks man,” Harley cut him off before he babbled, “but it’s a job and I wanted to get out of my hometown. And New York is the place to be. Everything is happening here.”

Parker contemplated his response. “Yeah, that’s true,” he begrudgingly admitted. “What about your family? Won’t you miss them?”

“Not at all considering they followed me here,” Harley answered, taping down the next strip. The washcloth held in place to Harley’s satisfaction. “Well, not here-here. They live further upstate. Not really into the city lifestyle.

“What about you?” Harley poised, wondering what the elusive Parker had been doing besides hiding from the law. “What are you doing here in the city?”

“I live here.”

“Doing what?”

Parker shrugged, drawing more reclusive again. “Nothing. I—I don’t have a job.”

“Are you in school?”

“No.”

“So, you just live with your parents?”

“I live alone.”

“Same,” Harley joked as he nudged his head in the direction of his bachelor pad. He then handed Parker the clean shirt. “What about your family then? They live in the city as well?”

Parker drew a deep, shattering breath. His eyes were discolored by tiredness and profound trouble. Harley swore he saw walls building up in those irises, sealing a secret sorrow. Wanting to hide, Parker quickly pulled the shirt over his head, granting him a moment of privacy. Only a brief moment. Parker’s head popped out of the hole, and he blinked to refocus, to strengthen his resolve despite the red shine in his eyes.

The boy’s lower lip quivered as words whispered out.

“I used to.”

A long pause followed as the words sunk in. The soft confession of grief stirred some unknown compassion within Harley. He understood that loneliness. The missing of parental love. His father physically left and his mother emotionally left. He was lucky to have a sister to share familial love with, but the sudden thought of something happening to Harper, it darken him for a second, like a burn scorching his soul.

Harley resigned, his voice clement. “I’m sorry.”

Parker sniffed loudly before he cleared his throat. “Not your fault.”

“I know,” Harley acknowledged. “I was saying sorry because it sucks.”

When Parker looked up, Harley saw sad eyes, understanding something in life not many know. “Yeah, it does.”

He sounded so disheartened. Parker’s ghastly appearance made him look small and pathetic. He shrank back into the couch, an arm hugging himself. He kept taking deep and controlled breaths, like the act of breathing was complicated and a struggle.

Parker was a complete mess.  

Harley ran a hand through his hair, looking back at the gin and considered. “I think this calls for harder stuff,” he hoisted himself off the table. “Wait here.”

He carefully collected the bloody mess of napkins and washcloth, and headed off to the kitchen again. He tossed the mess. He reached up to the cabinet above his refrigerator, spying the Old Forester 1910 whiskey Reynolds gifted to him for his promotion. He hadn’t opened it. His plan was to save it for when he took Jones and the Resistance down. He never imagined he would open it to share a drink with a SHIELD enemy, but life’s a curveball.

Besides, it seemed appropriate enough. In maybe ten minutes or less, Tony or SHIELD would arrive to arrest Parker. And if they waited for Jones’s return, arrest her as well. Two birds with one stone. The capture of Peter Parker and the end of the Queens Resistance. All in a single night.

Yes, tonight was his night of victory. He would toast to that. And Parker could toast to whatever broke him.

Harley returned with the whiskey and two glasses. He plopped down next to Parker and broke the seal on the bottle. Glasses lined up, he poured the smooth amber liquid into both glasses. Parker eyed it with curiosity. Probably wondering if it would taste better than the gin.

He passed a glass to Parker. “Sip this one,” he warned the boy.

Without any preamble or toast, Harley took a swig of the whiskey. It was rough on his taste-buds, but it dull it enough to go down his throat smoothly. His body warmed and the memories faded in the back of his head.

Parker lifted the drink to his nose, gave it a whiff, before putting his lips to the glass. As instructed, he tipped a little. The liquor wet his mouth and, seconds later, Parker made that soured expression. His eyes squeezed shut as his face pursed together to deal with the onslaught of intense sensation.

It took the boy another moment to recompose himself from a short coughing fit. He smacked his lips together, trying to remove the last essence of the whiskey from them. “Oh—that’s stronger than the gin.”

“Thank God,” Harley quipped, taking another sip from his glass.

Parker watched Harley and then raised his glass back up. He took another sip, despite the protest his face made when he did. His face crinkled up in the same horrified disgust

“You don’t have to keep drinking it,” Harley said. “It might be too strong for you to handle.”

“No—No!” Parker shook his head, pulling the glass to his chest. “It’s fine. It’s good. Good stuff.”

Harley laughed, patting Parker on the back, to which made the boy cough again. The whiskey still burned his throat. The boy had tenacity, Harley would give him that.

They bestowed each other a moment of quiet reflection. Taking swings (or tiny sips on Parker’s case) of the whiskey as they contemplative over private matters. Harley itched to check his phone, wondering if Tony texted him, sent him orders. It was on silent to avoid any questionings, but Harley was eager to end the night. No longer interested in babysitting the boy anymore.

He looked back at Parker. No signs of distress lingered on the boy’s face. The whiskey must have done its job well enough.

“Feeling better?” Harley asked.

“Not feeling any worse,” Parker answered, lifting up a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Taking care of me. You didn’t have to. Especially after I yelled at you. That was… I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were only asking for help.”

Oh, if only Parker knew why Harley had to help him. “It’s fine. I get it. We live in stressful and dangerous times. I won’t hold it against you,” he waved Parker’s apology aside, although he very much wanted to do so. “Plus, you know, you have a bullet wound that’s probably hurting you nonstop. Surprised you haven’t collapsed yet.

“And, obviously I wouldn’t let you die on me,” he continued on. “Or else Michelle would kill me. I mean, you obviously know her, but she’s one scary bitch!”

That made Parker crack a rare smile. “Yeah… she’s pretty amazing.” He checked back to the door, rubbing his eye. “When did MJ say she’ll come back again?”

“An hour, I think? Got like forty minutes or so,” Harley took another drink. “Why?”

Parker didn’t answer. He placed his glass down on the table. Eyes latched on the front door. His whole body went stiff. Rigid. His gaze frozen in a concentrated glare. Back fully erect, he twisted from door to window back to door, his brows corrugated into a tense frown.

“What is it?” Harley asked, confused by Parker’s odd behavior. It reminded him of his old neighbor’s guard dog. Always perking up at unseen things, ready to bark and bite. “Are you already wasted from two sips?”

It wouldn’t surprise Harley at all. With Parker’s scrawny build and lack of alcohol tolerance, the boy was probably tipsy after the first sip of the whiskey. No—the first drink of gin!

Parker jerked his head to Harley. “Something’s happening.”

“Like what?”

Parker didn’t answer. He ignored Harley as he lurched off the couch, nearly tripping over Harley’s long legs. Harley was startled, the whiskey tipping over the edge and dripping down his fingers.

“Whoa! Hey! Easy there,” Harley said to Parker, but the boy ignored him.

Parker slid up next to the window, back pressed against the wall as he peeked out. Harley placed his glass down on the table, coming up to join him.

“What are you doi—”

Parker yanked him back from the window, nearly slamming him into his bookcase. “We need to leave.”

“What?”

Parker moved again. “Where’s your fire escape?”

“In my bedroom,” Harley pointed to his bedroom’s entryway. “What’s going on?”

Parker already hurried off to the bedroom, with Harley chasing after him. The boy went to the window, spotting the fire escape. It faced the street, exposing them to the main road. Parker shook his head, backing away. He turned to Harley with a desperate urgency that made even Harley panic.

“What about the roof?” Parker confronted him. “Do you have access to that?”

“Um… I don’t know,” Harley answered, sliding to block Parker from the door. “Hey, man, you have to stay still. You’re going to undo all my hard work and rip that wound more. The bullet is still in there and you don’t want it ripping anything else up. Just sit back on the couch and relax. No one is here, but us. We can wait until Michelle gets back to fix the wound.”

“We can’t wait,” Parker argued and the boy managed to break through Harley’s blockade with an easy brush to the side. Harley nearly tipped over, but he caught himself on the wall. What happened to that scrawny, weak kid just a minute ago?

"MJ will know what happened and where to go. She'll be fine." Parker hurried across the apartment. “We need to leave now.”

Harley panicked, fingers clenching and uncleanching on a gun he didn't carry on him at the moment. He wished he did. It would be useful for him now. Parker could not run off. Could not race back into the night and fucking disappear. Any second, Tony or Reynolds would arrive. Harley would present Parker to them, earning praise and respect. Be the receiving end of a proud smile. No, Parker could not disappear! Harley wouldn’t let him get away again.

But, Parker didn’t care what Harley wanted. “We have to!” he said as his hands slid to his wrists. The boy’s brown eyes went wide like saucers. His mouth dropped, his hands frantically checking his pockets. “No… no, no, no—damn it!”

“What? What is it?”

“N-Nothing,” Parker dismissed, heading to the front door. He pressed his ear against the door, listening. “We need to go now. Rooftop? Is there an access to it on the top floor?”

“Eh… yeah, I imagine so,” Harley said, still baffled. “But, Michelle wants us to wait here. She told me that herself.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because SHIELD is coming.”

Harley whipped his head around, gaping at Parker with utter silence and intensity. How did Parker know that? He raced to the window, looking out to see if SHIELD was here. He didn’t see anyone or any of their vehicles. How did Parker know SHIELD was coming then?

“Get away from the window!” Parker shouted. “We need to go! C’mon!”

“But—”

Parker already opened the front door, sprinting out. For a boy who, mere minutes ago, toddled around his apartment, acting helpless, he recovered incredibly fast to move at such speeds. Harley, not wanting to lose Parker, jammed his feet into the shoes next to the door before racing after him. He ran up the steps as Parker bounded to the top floor where there was a small entry that led to the rooftop.

When Harley got to the top of the stairs, Parker already leapt and grabbed hold of the small ladder, bringing it down. Parker climbed. Harley almost reached to grab Parker’s ankles and throw him back down. Yet, by the time he raised his hand, Parker already burst the rooftop’s door open, scrambling out.

Then, Parker’s head poked out of the hole. He shoved his hand down. “Take my hand!”

Harley groaned. This was not what he pictured his night to become. Should have tased the boy at the very beginning to avoid all these… dramatics. Good thing Harley kept his phone in his pocket, nestled safe. SHIELD could track it when they find the apartment empty. Locate them and then, once surrounded by agents, Harley would arrest Parker.

Until then, Harley had no choice, but to take Parker’s hand.

Much to his surprise, Parker lifted him onto the roof easily and without any struggle. A chill nipped his lips and cheekbones, causing a slight shiver to run across his face. Harley pulled his limbs close, huddling in and thinking how he should have grabbed a jacket. Or a sweater at least.

Above, the night sky was a murky blue shade, the darkness polluted by headlights, shop signs and the overall glowing life of New York City. No matter the time, the city never got dark enough.

Harley startled at the sound of metal slamming shut. He spun around, looking back at the hatch. Parker had kicked it closed and was now scanning their surroundings.

Parker pointed down the end of the block, to the last building in the row of stores and apartments before it hit an avenue. “Get into the alley that’s close to the bus stop. We can blend in the crowd that gets off the bus. It’s our best escape.”

“Escape?”

“Yeah,” Parker replied with a sudden rush of air. “Trust me—you don’t want to be captured by these guys.”

Oh, Harley knew what happened when criminals were caught. Many were given a choice, and others were given a one-way ticket. And, Harley knew which option Parker would receive.

The ambiance of the night was interrupted by a squeal of brakes and doors opening and closing all at once. The sound of hustling and pounding footsteps told Harley that his team arrived. SHIELD finally came.

Parker heard it too. He tugged on Harley’s shirt. “Run!”

The boy bolted, vaulting over the first rooftop with startling grace and balance that was fit for a hurdler. He stayed low, stealthy in his movements and sticking to the shadows along the rooftops rather than taking the direct route. It perplexed Harley as to how Parker was able to leap over the series of rooftops, considering all the blood loss and gaunt limbs. He half-expected Parker to break his bones upon landing, but he didn’t. His feet moved, nonstop, almost gliding on air.

Harley groaned before he started up again. Off chasing after Parker. He ran across the series of rooftops, cursing to himself and regretting all the chances he had to take out Parker since he returned home. All because he wanted to learn what made Parker special. Turned out it was nothing. And now, Harley was scrambling over different rooftops, sometimes even pulling himself up and dropping down, which made his knees ache upon landing. All Harley could think, as he followed Parker, was that he better get a big fucking bonus at the end of the night.

They reached the end of the line. Parker already crouched at the ledge, staring down the side of the building. Harley knelt beside him, breathing deep as he glimpsed over the side, spying the quiet alleyway. Parker was hardly breathing. His mouth was closed, tight and pensive. Something was wrong.

“What?” Harley breathed.

“The fire escape is not here,” Parker groaned. “Must be in front of the building.”

“Okay. Then we go out the front.”

Parker shook his head. “No, too open,” he contested, standing up. “You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

Harley stood too. “Trust you on what?”

He was much taller than the boy. By at least half a head. Parker tilted his head back, looking straight into Harley’s eyes, all serious. “I need you to get on my back.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going to have to get on my back,” Parker repeated. “It’s the fastest way down.”

Harley wanted to laugh, but the severe contentions in the boy’s face told him Parker was serious. This was not a joke.

“Err… I don’t think you can carry my weight,” Harley said, before pointing to Parker’s injured shoulder. “Especially with your wound. I mean… no. Absolutely not. If anything, I’ll be carrying you.”

Parker wasn’t humored. “We don’t have time to argue,” he rebutted, patience thinning. “Either you get on my back or you can stay here and hope they don’t find you.”

Harley wanted to sucker-punch him in the face. That itch grew, his fingers curled to form fists. It would be easy. Quick and strong. Right on the head. Knock the lights out of him, make him dead conscious to the world.

Parker’s patience must dissipated. In one swoop, Harley was swept off the rooftop, thrown over Parker’s good shoulder.

“What the hell!” Harley freaked, wiggling to get off. “Put me down!”

“Can’t,” Parker rebuked. “You can either hold on or get on my back, but I won’t put you down.”

He moved to the ledge, turning around so that Harley stared directly at the plummeting sight before him.

“Are you crazy?” What the hell was Parker thinking? “You’re going to kill us!”

“Stop shouting,” Parker hissed. “You want to give us away?”

“Okay—okay, let’s just… _Fine_! I’ll get on your back. Just—just stop for a minute!”

Parker halted, letting Harley slide right off his shoulder. He gestured for Harley to jump onto his back, to hold on like he was offering a piggy-back ride. It was belittling. Harley, over six feet tall, climbing onto the back of kid. His long legs wrapping around the small waist, and his arms awkwardly hooking around the boys neck, trying to avoid touching the wound.

“This is embarrassing,” he muttered under his breath.

“Better to lose a tiny bit of dignity than your life,” Parker replied as he turned back to the ledge again, ready to drop or… whatever.

Harley looked down, wondering how Parker was going to scale down a building without a fire escape or without any adhesive gloves or without any support. Did Parker seriously think he could scale down a building on his own? Go from window ledge to the next window? Insane! Outrageous!

Parker sucked in a breath. “Hold tight.”

On instinct, Harley clasped tight on Parker as the boy dropped over the ledge. It wasn’t a freefall. He merely dangled over the side before he proceeded the descent. Harley’s heart drummed, faster and harder. Arms clutching down and his legs pinched, which made Parker wince. Good, Harley thought. That’s what he deserved for this ridiculousness idea.

Parker moved quick. Harley listened to the boy grunt, wince and his labored breaths, all while observing Parker’s hands grip onto the align bricks. Parker was swift and precise in every move he took. Not a single hesitation. Harley watched in stunned silence, not quite sure if it was real or imaginary. Logically, he knew Parker was enhanced, but to scale a building with nothing shouldn’t be possible. He double-checked Parker, but he wore nothing that assisted him. Just his own hands, sticking to the side of the building.

Parker decided they were close enough to the ground to let go. His fingers broke away from the building, dropping on top of an air conditioner and from there bouncing down to the pavement. Parker sighed in relief, turning his head to the side.

“You can let go.”

Harley untangled himself, stepping back from Parker. He looked up from the rooftop, where they were arguing maybe two minutes ago, and then back to Parker, standing in the middle of an alley full of discarded boxes, black trash bags and the smell of old piss.

“I’m beginning to think you’re more than a case of mistaken identity,” Harley remarked as he stared at Parker’s bare hands to his face.

Parker huffed a short laugh, before nudging his head to the street. “C’mon,” he urged, brushing away a loose curl from his forehead. “They’ll start blocking the streets off and set up checkpoints.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

They headed for the exit, spying the cars and taxis passing from the opening. They came up to the sidewalk, ready to step out when a shadow blocked them. Startled, Harley reared back. The shadow swung, swatting him aside like a fly. Harley slammed against the bricks. Dizzy and unbalanced, he wobbled on his feet for a few seconds, and then dropped.

Head pounded like a percussion rang inside his skull. Eyes heavy, fading in and out as his eyelids droop. Everything around him was buzzing. So much noise. Another loud ruckus reverberated inside his head and along his entire spine. Groaning, he laid limp on his side, trying to gather his bearings through the haze. He turned his head, eyes rolling up to spy a blurred image of his attacker.

Even with the street lamps alit, Harley only saw the stranger covered in black, with thick, gold lining right down the middle. There appeared to be two coils, like whips, coming out of a power-pack latched on its back. The coils swung and struck, wrapping around something. Someone.

Harley blinked. The fuzzy colors coming clearer. The coils twisted around Parker’s torso, lifting the boy up into the air and squeezing until Parker submitted.

Good luck with that, Harley thought, lifting his head up to see better. His forehead seared and every muscle in his body shrieked with pain. Harley’s head fell back. He winced through his clenched jaw. Christ! He hoped he didn't break his skull.

A loud rasp echoed, luring Harley back to reality. Back to the real situation in front of him.

One of the coils latched onto Parker's injured shoulder. The claw snapped hard against the wound, and Parker uttered out a yelp. Harley heard a nasty snicker.

“Well… well… well,” the stranger sneered, “if it isn't Little Itsy Bitsy Peter Parker. Been wanting to meet you for a very, very long time.”

Parker said nothing. Maybe because he couldn’t. His face was red, eyes blotchy and the shirt Harley gave him started to turn red from the squeezed wound.

The stranger chuckled. “Orders were to capture you alive and, oh, I will keep you alive… _and_ _screaming_ ,” he said, gleefully. “You see here, Petey, I don't take too kindly to people who kill one of my teammates. One of my  _friends_."

The coils twisted. Parker let out another whimpered cry as the coils pinched him. The stranger only laughed. “This is going to be fun!” the stranger dangerously chuckled. “No Stark or Reynolds around to protect you, now, boy! Just you… and me.”

And me, Harley said in his head. He was not going to lose out to some cheater. To hell with his man getting to hand over Parker and steal all of his hard work and glory. To hell with him! Harley wasn’t going to let that happen.

He blinked, refocusing to get his vision steady again. He needed to get up. Get up and reclaim his victory. He pushed through the dull throbbing in his head. Ignored the protest of his aching limbs. Using the building to assist, he pulled himself up onto his feet. He swayed a bit, but didn’t fall. Upright and at better equilibrium, he saw the scene fully.

The stranger kept the coils tight on Parker, its claw-like hand pinching hard on the wound that rivulets of blood streamed down his arm. Parker’s mouth was open in silent cry, his lungs unable to expand to let out a high-pitch wail.

Harley scoped out his competitor. The man's suit was black and gold, not seemingly special like Iron Man outfit. He had a power-pack strapped to his back, giving his dual coils power. Without it, the man would be rendered useless. Vulnerable. Harley found his target.

He checked around the alley, searching for anything that could help him destroy the power-pack. There was nothing useful. Only filled black trash bags and flatten cardboard boxes. Nothing to crush the power-pack.

Which meant Harley had one option. Remove the power-back entirely. And to do that…

In a burst of renewed energy and complete abandon, Harley charged at the stranger. He let out a loud roar and leapt on top of the stranger’s back. Suicidal, probably, but Harley took the chance. He dug his fingernails into the stranger’s face, scratching and pulling the skin back to confound him and lose focus.

It did the trick. The stranger jerked and swung, but Harley refused to budge. He continued clawing at the man with one hand, while using the other to rip the power-pack off the stranger. Or to at least, shut it down. Where was the damn power button?

A tight pinch snagged his midsection. Harley let out a startled gasp before he was ripped off the man’s back and slammed back down on the pavement. Disoriented for a moment, he saw another coil come for his head. Adrenaline rushing, Harley rolled. The coil crushed into the pavement, missing Harley’s head by centimeter.

A large shadow loomed over him. “ _You_ ,” seethed the man.

Harley smirked, proud. “Me.”

The coil came back, slapping Harley. He flew up and then landed, tumbling and rolling until he slid to a stop. Harley was certain every bone in his body just broke. He stretched his fingers along the pavement, his palm down to push up, but it burned. He yelped, collapsing underneath it. Harley curled to his side, looking at his palm and saw an ugly, red gash cut open. Blood oozed out, leaving tiny rivulets along the creases of his palm.

Another pinch struck his shoulder and Harley was violently flipped onto his back. To his surprise, it was not another claw that barreled at his face. It was a hand. A fist to be more exact. The knuckled connected to his face, colliding right into his cheek. Harley’s face snapped to the side, feeling his flush with heat. That was going to leave a bruise.

The man sneered. Brown-grey eyes bore into him. Sinister flecks of glee burned from those irises, hungry for vengeance of personal assault. The coils waved above him, circling and ready to stab. The grin went wide.

The left coil sharply turned and rushed at him. Harley flinched. Eyes shut out of instinct, bracing for impact. Awaiting a sharp sting of agony. Shit—he didn’t want to die.

Was it worth it? He wondered. Was it worth it to die in an alleyway for Peter Parker?

Hell, no! Should have let the man kill the boy.

“Argh!”

Harley jerked, eyes slammed open to see what was happening. The stranger’s face twisted in aggravation, turning away from Harley to look beside him. To see why his coil did not, in fact, continued to stab Harley.

It was right above. About two feet away, the claw snapping for him. It didn’t get any closer though.

Because Peter Parker held it back.

Parker squeezed his grasp on the coil, the metal crushing underneath it in a short groan. The man swung his other coil at Parker, aiming for his head, but Parker caught that one too. Both coils trapped in Parker’s grip.

Harley remained still, watching in stunned disbelief. Parker glared at the man. The muscles in his face strained, teeth grinding together as he exerted all his strength to hold back the snapping claws from Harley’s face.

The man growled, reaching for something on his wrist, but Parker moved faster. Harley thought he missed the whole thing. It happened so quickly. One second, the man with the dual coils stood in confrontation with Parker. The next, Parker stood with one of the coils in his hand, broken off from the power-pack, and the stranger, their attacker, was slumped against the wall, unconscious and bleeding at the temple. The power-pack sparking and smoking.

Parker stared at the coil in disgust, tossing it aside as he limped over to Harley. “You okay?”

Harley groaned as he sat up. His spine completely bruised. “I’ll live… I think,” he said, pressing his palm against his shirt to stop the bleeding. He tilted his head, looking up at Parker. “I changed my mind – you’re definitely not a case of mistaken identity.”

Parker snorted a light chuckle before he offered a hand. Harley accepted the assist, and was pulled back onto his feet. He wobbled, unbalanced for a second, but Parker pulled him to his side, letting Harley lean on him for support.

“Easy,” Parker guided, moving one of Harley’s arm around his shoulder. “I got you.”

Harley looked back to Parker. “You saved my life.”

Parker half-heartily shrugged, a quiet, thoughtful smile on his lips. “You saved mine.”

"Huh?" Harley muttered in thought. "Guess we make a pretty good team-up."

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the escape, the fight and even the near-death experience, but the two suddenly broke down, chuckling and wearing huge grins. It lasted a moment, both of them finding that brief happiness of surviving their panic. When it passed, the laughter died and things went somber. The two fell silent, graciously accepting their contributions in this scuffle against the unknown man. Harley took a moment to study him now that the fighting stop and his adrenaline slowly leaked out of him. He didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t part of Reynolds’ team. Harley couldn’t spot any ensign on his uniform. Was he a member of SHIELD?

Parker tapped on Harley’s shoulder, garnering his attention from the man. “We gotta go,” he said, helping Harley in his walk, which caused Harley to moan at the jostled movements. “More will come.”

“W-Who will come?” Harley’s words slurred on his tongue. He may have hit his head too hard.

“Shadow Company.”

Harley’s eyes enlarged. He—the man with the coils—was a member of Shadow Company? Harley glanced back to the unconscious individual, reexamining him again for a new analysis. Parker took out a member of Shadow Company. Well, it was a team effort. Harley wouldn’t let him take the full credit. After all, if he didn’t jump on the man, Parker would have been crushed to death.

Parker guided them out on the sidewalk, ducking his head down for cover. They limped over to where a bus rolled up. People waiting in line to clambered for their early morning commute. Harley tried not to wince so much as Parker quicken their steps, reaching the back of the bus and boarding illegally.

A few commuters saw, but said nothing. Only quietly stared with wide, horrified eyes, turning their bodies away from them as they passed. The bus driver didn’t noticed. No one talked about the fact they were both dirtied and bloody, especially Parker with his wound bleeding profusely than last time. The Shadow soldier reopened it and aggravated it more. Tiny streams of blood slid down his arm, but Parker paid no attention to his injury. He helped Harley to a seat, placing him by the window as he plopped down on the seat next to him.

Harley rolled his head, too exhausted to lift it up. “Where we going now?”

“Nowhere,” Parker said, firm. “We’re separating.”

Harley’s eyes widened. “Come again?”

Parker didn’t look at him. His eyes were forward, studying every face and head on the bus. He glanced up to the camera, knowing too well it spotted them. Exposed them. Parker must not care. It didn’t matter anyway. Everyone knew he was alive.

Harley poked him. “Hey! What do you mean we’re splitting up?”

“It’s for your own good,” Parker assured him. “They’re after me. Not you.”

“They could be after both of us. I am part of the Resistance. You’re not, if I recall,” Harley pointed out. “Remember? You’re not involved.”

“I lied… somewhat.”

“No shit.”

The bus went over a pothole, knocking them in their seats. Harley hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to bear the pain. Parker let out a low whine, his other hand holding his arm to support the shoulder. They took a moment to ease themselves of the pain, ignoring the neighboring stare from an old, white lady, who looked perturbed at their violent state.

Parker dropped his head, hiding half of his face as he did. “It’s complicated,” he whispered to Harley, “but trust me. You don’t want to be around me.”

“Um… seeing as you have sticky hands and super strength,” Harley listed off the abilities he witnessed Parker used. “I’m going to argue that it is better if I do stay.”

Parker vehemently shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he opposed. “Like I said, it’s complicated and dangerous. It’s best if I’m alone. For everyone’s own good.”

The bus slowed, turning off to stop at another bus stop. Harley opened his mouth to counter that argument, but Parker leapt to his feet.

“Get as far away from here as you can and whatever you do, don’t return to your apartment,” Parker hastily warned, trying to share as much as he could to Harley. “Don’t contact your family. Don’t go back to your job. They’ll be waiting for you there. Just… stay low.”

“But… but—Hey! Wait!”

It was too late. Parker bounded off the bus, not at all looking back. He pushed through the two people who blockaded the exit and joined the streets again, hustling off. Harley tried to get up to follow, but the aches and a spell of dizziness had him fall back in his seat.

The bus closed its doors and pulled back out into traffic.

Great, Harley thought, looking out the window to see if he could spot the direction Parker ran off to. He didn’t. All he saw were random individuals on the sidewalk, pointing down the street where they just came from.

Harley reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He had… too many messages and missed calls. All of them from Reynolds.

None from Tony Stark.

That was a relief. Harley feared to listen voicemail of Tony’s disappointing tone. Or read his frustration texts. The lack of response relaxed Harley enough, not caring if it meant Tony was on dark mode. As long as he didn’t drag Tony all the way there made Harley happy enough.

Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived when he saw an incoming call from Reynolds.

Better to answer it now than later.

He slid his thumb across the screen, put the phone to his ear, and mustered, “Hey.”

_“What the hell, Keener?”_

He sounded mad. That was expected based off all the missed messages and calls. Reynolds must be at his empty apartment. Probably fuming.

“Hello to you too. How are you?”

_“Don’t get cute with me. Where is he? Are you still with him?”_

Harley bit his lower lip. “Umm…”

_“Keener_?”

“I lost him.”

There was a long pause. A horrible, dreadful sinking pause.

Then, a low, strong voice. Almost deadly.

_“You…_ lost _him?”_

“Yeah.”

And Reynolds exploded on him. _“How did you fucking lose him? He was injured!_ ”

“Yeah, well, being injured doesn’t mean he’s incapable,” Harley huffed, not enjoying the lashing. “It’s not my fucking fault! He freaked out about SHIELD and bolted. I managed to stick with him until Shadow Company fucked it all up. And now, Parker ran off about… er, five minutes or so ago.”

He heard a tight breath from Reynolds. _“Where are you now?”_

“I’m on a bus… I don’t know,” Harley looked around to see if he could spot a number. “Parker got off 69th and… and Harrow. Don’t know where he’s going. I tried to get him to take me to, but he just—”

_“Quiet, please_ ,” Reynolds ordered and Harley heard a few muffled words in his ear. “ _Sending men to that area now._ ”

“I’ll get off at the next stop then,” Harley said, “Meet up with the agents. Point them in the direction. We’ll need to try to close roads. Twenty blocks, I would say. And we’ll—”

_“No—you are not doing any of that_.”

“Why not? I saw him last. I can at least point in the general direc—.”

_“No… you’re going to come straight back here,_ ” Reynolds demanded with a seething hiss. _“Got it?_ ”

Harley sharply inhaled, a protest on the tip of his tongue.

Reynolds sensed his upcoming argument and put a stop to it. _“That’s an order._ ”

Harley fumed, stirring in his seat wearing a severe pout. “Fine. Whatever.”

He hung up. Done with the conversation. His head fell against the seat, staring out the window. “Thanks for asking how I am,” he grumbled under his breath. “Just sitting here. All beaten up and bleeding.”

The bus slowed again, pulling off to the side to exchange passengers. It was his stop. He needed to get off and return to his apartment where Reynolds waited for him. But, Harley didn’t do that. He watched the doors open, people step out and step in, and then he watched the closed. The bus turned back into traffic again, turning on down 71st Street.

It stopped again. Harley didn’t get off. He stayed seated, not budging at all. He dropped his head against the glass, sighing in relief at the cool touch on his burning face. He was comfortable. No desire to leave. No desire to be blamed and yelled. None of them respected him. Except for Tony. He always gave Harley credit for his work. After all, Harley had been doing the heavy lifting in this entire operation. It’s not his fault the rest of the team couldn’t get their shit together and contribute. All they did was fuck it up.

Like tonight with Shadow Company. Harley had it all under control until that fool interrupted it. He ruined the operation because of some petty revenge. Then Harley had to stop him, get injured and Parker was able to get away.

Fuck them all. He didn’t do anything wrong.

Harley continued to ride the bus. Passengers hunched in their seats, sitting in muddied silence. The seats and windows shook at every small bump on the ragged road, the large wheels doing nothing to absorb the vibrations. There was a faint whiff of diluted gas, but Harley tolerated by coughing a few times. Although, he had to stop coughing. His chest ached at every expanse his lung did. He kept his eyes out on the window, watching Queens slid by.

He scoffed at it. He thought tonight would be his last night in this hell hole. Now, it took him on a grand tour, showing every street and building to remind Harley that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Almost an hour passed before Harley decided to get off. His limbs continued to ache, but he pushed himself out of the seat and stumbled down the steps. The doors closed with a gasp of air, and Harley watched the bus lurch on, going back into the cycle of traffic.

Harley ordered an Uber to take him back to the Tower. He received a new batch of missed calls, voicemail and texts, but Harley ignored and blocked Reynolds.

The Uber dropped Harley close by the Tower, near the secret entrance. Harley figured Reynolds would wait for him in the main lobby after his no-show at the apartment. Using the tunnels, he slipped unnoticed into the underground of the Tower. When FRIDAY greeted him, Harley immediately requested that she did not alert his presence to anyone.

“Is Reynolds back?” Harley asked, getting into the elevator.

_“Yes. He was not in a good mood upon his return_.”

Go figure, Harley thought, glad he decided to disobey. “Good to know,” he said. “Hey, FRI?  Can you take me to medical? I need to patch up my hand.”

_“Will do_.”

The elevator moved, arriving shortly at the medical floor. Like most of the Tower, it was pristine and modern. There was stainless steel, sleek floor and the décor was tasteful, natural images of colors. The air smelled pure. Not sterile like one expected. Just pure and fresh.

Harley walked through the double-doors. No one greeted him. It was empty. Too early for anyone to be at work. Harley didn’t mind. He found it better no one was around, because then they would want to do a full check-up, and that would certainly alert Reynolds of his return.

He found an empty patient room. He turned on a light and rummaged through the drawers. He found a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a packet of absorbent compress dressing, a tube of Neosporin and adhesive bandages. All he needed to care for the cut on his palm.

He inspected his wound, checking it before dabbing hydrogen peroxide on it. It burned, but Harley was tough. Tougher than Parker, who kept squirming when he was cleaning his wound. Harley conducted a thorough clean, adding a dab of ointment before he unwrapped the bandages. As he unrolled the dressing and cut off a strip, he heard a noise.

He paused. Listened. The noise became clearer. A voice. Someone else was on the floor.

Harley stilled, not moving. Not even breathing as he tried to decipher the voice. If it was Reynolds, he needed to hide immediately. He flicked the light off and rolled on the chair, moving closer to the opened door. Cautiously, he stuck out his head.

He saw no one, but there was a light on, further down the corridor.

The voices were hard to hear. Too muffled for any cohesive understanding. Harley abandoned his room, tiptoeing down the corridor to hear the conversation better. As he drew closer, the first voice he heard sounded familiar.

The voice spoke up, clearly male. “What about his weight?”

A different voice spoke up, soft and clinical. Like a doctor. “I can recommend a few nutritionists,” the voice said, sounding feminine. “They can outline his meal plans to get him to a more acceptable weight.”

“What about now? Can he eat something now?”

Another voice grunted. “Tony—”

Harley’s heart leapt up and almost fell out of his mouth. Tony?! What… what was he doing down here?

Listening closer, Harley definitely recognized the first voice belonging to Tony Stark. The other two were a little harder to differentiate. He suspected one of them to be a doctor. The female, but he couldn’t picture a female doctor at the top of his head. Well, any doctors’ names to be honest. The third voice, the one that rarely spoke and mostly grunted, he didn’t know either. Someone who knew Tony well enough to sound exasperated with the man.

Harley stopped, huddling next door to the closed room Tony was in. Harley pressed his ear up against the wall, breathing slow and steady to not miss a single word.

He heard Tony’s voice again. The man sounded worried. Exhausted. “What else does he need, Doc? Anything we can do now?”

Harley’s eyebrows furrowed. Was someone ill? Was it Colonel Rhodes? He knew the man suffered from paralysis. Did something happened to make it worse?

The doctor tsked. “Probably a good night’s sleep would do wonders,” she commented. “For now, he’s good here. I’ll come by again in the afternoon.”

“But he should eat first, right? He’ll die by seven if he doesn’t.”

A long, drawn sigh. “He can have something small if you insist.”

Harley heard chairs squeak as they were pushed aside. The doorknob jiggling before it turned. Harley gasped, jolting back and spinning around behind the neighboring door. He tucked himself in the corner, holding onto the handle to keep the door from giving away his position.

He saw shadows spill out of the room. He counted. There were… four. Four shadows. Meaning four people were inside the room.

The clicks of heels echoed along with soft patters of shoes that followed as the shadows moved. Figures passed by Harley’s hiding space. His limited vision made it impossible to make out any specific physical identities of the individuals. He knew one to be Tony. Everyone else was a mystery.

As they moved away, walking back toward the elevators, Tony continued talking. “I think I can get my chef to come in early,” he shared aloud. “Cook up a steak for you. Hey—maybe I can get the chef from downstairs? Make that famous ‘world’s greatest steak’? Does that sound good?”

“Boss—we should probably let him sleep.”

“He will, Happy, but not on an empty stomach.”

Happy Hogan! Harley poked his face into the crevices of the door’s corner to catch a look. He didn’t see them anymore, but it made since for Happy Hogan to be the third voice. The second male in the group. Harley narrowed the people to be Tony Stark, Happy Hogan and a female doctor. The fourth stayed anonymous.

The female doctor spoke up. “A steak might be too heavy,” she stated. “Something smaller. Like fruit. Just for tonight.”

“Fine. Fruit then,” Tony said, not sounding pleased to have his ideas rejected outright. “I think there are a few choices. You can pick when we get there.”

Harley heard the elevator door chime, and FRIDAY’s voice greeting them. Tony gave a command and the elevator doors closed, sealing it shut with a tiny puff of air. Harley stayed in his hiding position a little longer before he stepped out into the hallway. It was all quiet again. No more lights. No more voices.

Harley turned back to the room Tony came out of. He checked the room for answers, but found nothing. Nothing was left behind. The doctor cleaned up. Harley racked his brain, trying to figure out who the fourth person was.

“Hey FRI?” Harley called up.

_“Yes, Mr. Keener?”_

“Who was just in here? With Tony?”

A short pause. _“I’m afraid I cannot answer that question. It is illegal for me to divulge another individual’s medical records to someone else._ ”

“I’m not asking for their records, just the name of the person.”

_“My protocols prevents me from divulging private information_.”

Harley sighed, giving up on the AI. FRIDAY won’t go against her protocol. Whoever the mysterious fourth person was, Tony sounded concerned, hoovering like a helicopter parent. Harley couldn’t think of anyone Tony would act like that for except, Colonel Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and himself.

All the questions rambling in his head increased his headache. He needed to sleep, to rest his mind and pulverized body. Whoever Tony was with didn’t matter anyway. Probably someone who needed a more medical monitoring. No big deal.

Harley returned to his original room and finished patching his palm. After cleaning, he snuck to the residential wing, where his suite awaited him. He gave specific instruction to FRIDAY to not let anyone enter his room unless it was Tony. Everyone else could wait until he woke up and wanted to talk to them. FRIDAY confirmed his requests as Harley quickly showered to remove the stank and other unknown gunk from his body and hair. Showered and smelling like honeydew, he put on mismatched pajamas, ready for sleep.

He crawled into his bed, throwing over the covers. It was the longest night of his life. And, possibly, one of the worst. As he rested his head on the pillow, he thought about Peter Parker. Thought about how that boy ruined Harley’s best night. Stole away all his dreams and glories.

And how Harley possibly ended his career in SHIELD when he met with Reynolds tomorrow.

Harley groaned loudly into his pillow. Fuck… tomorrow was going to suck.


	9. Right-Hand Man

The ceiling was white. No—eggshell. Maybe. 

Harley scrunched his eyes, scrutinizing the ceiling. He studied every inch of it. Twice. He never noticed how smooth the ceiling was. Back in Tennessee, he always had his eyes up, staring at the popcorn texture that hovered over him as he dreamt of better lives than of his own. But since he resided in Stark Tower, he never even bothered to look up. Until today.

Today, as he lounged in his bed, it drew his attention. Or at least, it diverted his attention away from what was happening outside his door.

Not that he knew. No one knocked on his door or ordered him out of his room. FRIDAY did as he instructed her to do last night. The AI kept everyone out. As long as he stayed in his room, Harley spared himself of humiliation.

It won’t last, said the voice in the back of his mind. Engulfed by the quietness and emptiness, his mind drifted back to the gnawing panic. His stomach tightened, uncomfortable as he fell back into thinking of what awaited him outside those doors. Every minute that ticked by, was a moment closer to being berated by Reynolds in front of everyone. A moment closer to having his mistakes be announced. A moment closer to being publicly shamed.

Harley flipped onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. It was not lost on Harley that Reynolds was upset with him. The phone conversation last night was clear, and ignoring his strict orders probably didn’t mollify the captain’s fury. Did Reynolds have the authority to demote him? Fire him?

Old worries rose up. The familiar sense of dread dripping down into his stomach, like the old pipes in his childhood home. The memory got him squirming. The mere thought of returning to his former life of a shambled house, smelling of mildew and old cigarettes, made his stomach constrict to the point it was hard to breathe. He could not return to that life!

Harley’s only saving grace was Tony.

Tony wouldn’t kick him out. Tony liked him. Hell—he was like a son to Tony! Tony listened to Harley. He never casted doubt in Harley’s capabilities and encouraged him. Tony understood that mistakes happen. People interfere, and it’s never one person’s fault. And unlike everyone else, Tony believed and trusted Harley. Trusted his words and all his effort.

With those reminders, the tensions eased. The knots unraveled and Harley slowly lifted his head from the pillow, breathing in the linen scent. He was safe. As long as Tony was alive, Harley wasn’t going anywhere.

He reached for the nightstand, snatching his phone from its charger. The screen came to life, informing of messages and unanswered calls. And a few blocked calls. Reynolds, Harley thought, ignoring the calls as he scrolled through the messages.

None of them were from Tony.

Tony Stark was in the Tower. Harley saw and heard him last night. Tony must have heard the news, if not from Reynolds, then others. Yet, not a single text or call. Nothing.

Maybe he should text Tony. Let him know before the wrong person spoiled the truth of last night’s incident. He snatched his phone from the nightstand again, and quickly shot off a text message, asking if he had time to talk.

He held his phone, staring at the screen, willing for a message or a call to pop up.

Instead, he got FRIDAY’s voice echoing above him.

_“Mr. Keener—Captain Reynolds would like to see you whenever you are ready._ ”

Harley’s heart skipped a beat. He sucked in a breath, flickering a quick glance to the door, almost expecting it to burst open. It didn’t.

“Um… tell him I’m sleeping.”

_“He does not believe you, but will meet you whenever you are ready_.”

Harley groaned. Apparently, Reynolds was going to wait him out. The good, old captain would have his tirade by the end of the day. And barricading himself in his room wasn’t going to spare him from that eventuality.

With resignation, Harley surrendered to the inevitable.

“Hey, FRI?” Harley called, pulling himself into a seating position on his bed. “Tell him I’m up and will be there in half an hour.”

_“Very well. Captain Reynolds requests that you meet him in his office.”_

“Great,” Harley grumbled as he got out of bed.

He showered, dressed and styled his hair. He brushed his hair back, trying to get his hair to flair up, but it fell. His hair skirted along his forehead, too heavy to style it without a glob of hair gel. And the gel gave him an unflattering appearance of a greaser. Harley resorted to swiping his hair to the side, thinking a haircut was in order.

As he headed for the door, he paused. A lot of people were going to stare at him. A lot of people were going to be mad at him, whisper cruel gossip and remarks. Judge him as incompetent.

No, he refused to let the incessant worries get to him. None of those people matter, he reminded. Their opinions did not matter. Their glares did not matter.

What mattered to Harley was what Tony thought, and the man never thought less of him.

With that struggling confidence, Harley opened the door and stepped out. No one was in the corridor. It was empty. Not surprising. The residential wing wouldn’t be booming with life in the middle of a weekday. Only Harley existed on the floor as he hurried to the elevators. He requested FRIDAY to take him straight to the office floors

Carried away in silence, Harley was gifted time to prepare a speech against Reynolds’s tirade. Better for him to fight his ground than to let Reynolds slap him around. He drafted a few lines in his head, insinuating the blame laid with Shadow Company. It wouldn’t be too hard for Reynolds to be convinced, considering the old, cliché rivalry Shadow Company and Reynolds’s team have. Harley had to play his cards right, and the accusations would turn from him to Shadow Company.

The elevator pinged its arrival. Harley steeled up his nerves as the door parted. Unlike the residential wing, the office floors were alive. People crowded the broad, straight corridor, dressed in professional attire or uniforms. A few looked his way when he stepped out, but chose to ignore him. Too busy with whatever they needed to do to paid him any attention.

Head held up, Harley marched down. He looked straight and avoided all those who briefly flickered a glance in his direction. He caught a few flutters of smirks, wisps of sniggers and his name uttered by different mouths. He did his best to tune them out, reminding himself they did not matter. Teeth grinding, he persevered onward, repeating the mantra that it was not his fault. By the quick looks he saw, no one believed it.

Spotting Reynolds’s door, he quickened his pace to get away from all the staring. He arrived, but paused. Deep breath, Harley slowly regained control. The muscles in his face tightened. Lips pressed together, he geared himself up for a battle. Confidant again, he opened the door without even knocking.

Reynolds’s secretary looked up, surprised by his sudden entrance. “Oh—hi,” she said, smoothing her shirt down and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “H-How are you doing, Harley? Everything good?”

She didn’t know. Harley wondered how she didn’t know, considering she was Reynolds’s secretary. Perhaps, Reynolds said nothing to her? Chose to keep her out of the loop to prevent the news from spreading. After all, she was a secretary. Not an agent. She knew nothing more than a plain civilian.

Her ignorance greatly benefited him. It gave him the opportunity to tell the truth of what happened last night. After all, secretaries all gossip whatever they hear to each other, spreading the rumors fast and far. It would be all too easy too as Harley noted how the secretary looked at him.

Her cornflower blue eyes stared admiringly up at him. Her body slender, shoulders small as she leaned over her desk, awaiting his response. Her smile nearly bursting at the seams, enraptured by him.

Harley switched demeanor, plastering a charmed smile on his face. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, strolling up to her desk. “All things considering, I’m doing all right.”

Her face turned to one of concern. “Oh no, what happened?”

Guess Reynolds kept his fury bottled up to save for him. “It’s nothing,” he said, tracing his finger around her name plaque—Erin. “Well, not really, I got screwed over by Shadow Company.”

And Erin’s eyes withered with sympathy for him. “Oh… what did they do?”

“They let the bad guy get away,” Harley answered, irking how Shadow Company spooked Parker to run. “I had him, but… shit happened."

Erin nodded along to his woeful tale. “I heard about them,” she said, scrunching her nose up in repulsion. “A lot of people say they’re trouble.”

“I heard the same,” Harley said, and then sighed. “Now, I know why.”

“That must have explained why Captain Reynolds was so upset early this morning,” Erin went on to say, instinctively lowering her voice. She did it every time she spoke of her boss. “He was in such a bad mood. It wasn’t until around ten that he started to cool off.”

“Is that so?” Harley flickered a nervous glance to the closed office door behind her. “Is he in now?”

Erin nodded. “Yeah, I can let him know—”

The door flew open. Harley didn’t react, but the secretary did. She swiveled in her chair, back erect as she looked at Reynolds.

“Captain! I was just about to—” Erin started to say, but Reynolds cut her off.

“No need,” Reynolds said. “I heard through the door.”

Erin’s cheeks turned red, head tilting downward as she pulled herself back to her desk. Reynolds didn’t bother to care. All of his attention fixated on Harley

Harley forced himself to remain relax, choosing to keep his elbow causally leaning on the secretary’s desk. He stared hard at Reynolds, studying the man’s stoic mien. There was no sign of blistering anger. The man’s skin wasn’t red, his veins not popping and his eyes burning with his normal righteous anger.

Nothing, but a cool, content appraisal. The corner of his lips light tugged as he crossed the room. “I see you finally decided to drag yourself out of bed,” he jibed. “Done all the pouting you could muster up for today?”

Harley bridled, mouth parted to return a snarky retort, but Reynold refused to give him a chance to speak.

“Let’s get going,” Reynold commanded. “I have a million things to do today.”

Reynolds strode passed him, leaving the office all together. Harley was startled for a second, before he hurried after him.

“Where we going, sir?” Harley asked, his stomach knotting up all over again. The idea of leaving the Tower and Tony’s protection brought back all those anxieties.

“Out.”

That was all Reynolds offered and Harley fell silent alongside him, marching on the captain’s coattails. Reynolds led him to the garage, his hands digging out a set of keys to a nearby parked Audi.

Harley silently whistled at the beauty. An Audi R8. One of the cars Tony loves to drive himself. Harley never rode in one. Mostly Happy Hogan drove him and Tony around the city in a town car or Harley drove himself with his crappy car. He never got to sit in a R8! And a tinge of jealousy rolled over him at knowing Reynolds held the keys.

Slowly his approach, Harley took his time to appraise the sleek vehicle. He cooed over alloy wheels, the new front-end styling, and the rear spoiler. It was a masterpiece! Even in the dim garage, the car glinted in the dull light. It shined finished acted almost like a mirror. Harley saw his own reflection in the color. His mirrored self gaped at the magnificent car. And the prospect of driving it (or being a passenger) hyped Harley enough to get his blood coursing through every inch of his body. He imagined himself behind the wheel, hitting the accelerator and feeling the engine come alive. With a horsepower of 562 and a V10 engine, this baby could hit zero to sixty in three seconds!

Oh… Harley wanted his hands gripping the steering wheel.

Reynolds unlocked the car. “Get in,” he ordered.

Harley didn’t need to be told twice. He slid onto the leather seat. The dashboard alit with every technological design imaginable. All the entertainment right there! All the smart gadgets available and ready to be used.

Reynolds got into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on. The seats immediately started to warm. Harley sunk into them and nestled into the backseat. Reynolds took no noticed, treating it like it was a Toyota Camry. But, Reynolds wouldn’t care about cars. The man could fly.

“So, um… where are we exactly going?” Harley asked as Reynolds pulled out of the parking spot. “To the Compound?”

“No,” Reynolds replied, turning out of the garage and into New York City’s traffic. “Greenwich Village.”

* * *

Jane Street was buffered by brownstones, all in a row, shoulder to shoulder, as if in military formation. The homes were all at the same height with a ground floor and three more floors added on top. Harley peered out his window, searching for the destination Reynolds drove them to. He couldn’t imagine them being any of these homes, but Reynolds kept driving down the lane until he parked the car right outside the stoop of one of the brownstones.

Reynolds turned off the engine. “We’re here.”

The captain got out and Harley followed suit. He stepped out on the curb, looking up at the windows to spy any figures lingering behind the glass pane. He saw no eyes staring back at him.

“Keener?”

Reynolds snuck up beside him, holding out a pair of keys to him. “Go right ahead,” he gestured to the brownstone before them.

Harley took the keys and walked up the stone steps. He used the key, turning it until it unlocked. With a brave breath, he pushed it open and entered a small foyer. A staircase was in front of him, inviting him up the stairs to the other floors. Harley declined, stepping aside to allow Reynolds to enter. The man closed the door behind him, gesturing Harley to go up the stairs to where whatever awaited him.

Harley climbed the stairs, listening carefully for any voices or movements that could alert him or give him an idea what was about to happen to him. Nothing. Only his slow steps creaked the stairs and his breath echoed in his ears. When he reached the top, he turned into a grand living space, designed in a homey, modern décor. White couch, glass coffee table, and a distinct, exquisite fireplace with a mantle that contained abstract trinkets to spruce the place up. Harley stepped further into the room, checking around to see if there was another person.

It was only him and Reynolds.

Reynolds lingered by the stairs, taking his post by the railing. He watched Harley search around in worried confusion. After Reynolds nothing for a minute, Harley became brave enough to confront the consequences.

“So, what is this? What’s happening?” Harley questioned, trying to keep his voice steady while checking his surroundings again. “Is this where you tell me I’m fired or something? Is someone else to coming? Is Tony coming?”

Reynolds’s brows slightly rose at the rapid questions fired at him. “Oh no, this…” he flicked a hand around the room, “is all for you.”

Harley stopped. “What?”

“The house. It’s for you,” Reynolds reiterated, waving his hand around them. “It’s compensation for your hard work on the Parker case.”

“My what?” Harley didn’t get it. He lost Parker. He had him and then lost him. “I—”

Reynolds removed himself from the railing, strolling into the living space and taking a look around with mild interest. “Stark promised a big reward for your efforts in the successful capture of Peter Parker,” he said, his attention back to Harley’s stunned face. “This house is part of that reward.”

Harley’s mouth fell.

Tony gifted him a house. A brownstone. In Greenwich Village. That had to be… over two million dollars! But, he didn’t capture Parker. No one did. At least, no one said anything about it. Harley would have heard if someone snatched Parker later in the night.

“But… I didn’t capture Parker,” Harley reminded Reynolds, certain the captain remembered last night’s events well enough. “He got away.”

“From you, yes,” Reynolds agreed, and then nonchalantly half-shrugged. “But, not from Stark.”

Harley drew in a breath. Tony  _did_ get his message! He didn’t ignore him after all!

Reynolds adjusted his shoulders, doing a lap around the room. “Apparently, it was something you said that led Stark to Peter,” he explained, fingers brushing against the new sofa-chair. “And because you upheld your end, he is giving you this house. Oh… and here.”

Keys flew across the room. Harley snatched them out of the air with one hand. He took a peek and his eyes enlarged. They were the car keys to the Audi R8.

“The Audi is yours too,” Reynolds confirmed spying Harley’s dumbfounded expression. “Additionally, you have free parking outside your house.”

Harley stared at the keys, unable to form words or even a coherent thought. Every nerve in his body exploded with unbelievable joy. His eyes fluttered, almost expecting the key to disappear and the house to vanish. It wasn’t a dream or a figment of his imagination. He still held the key and stood in his brand new home.

“Congratulation, Mr. Keener,” Reynolds praised with a tight smile. “Please feel free to tour your new home. Stark hopes you like it.”

Animated, Harley rushed out to explore the house. He checked every room, marveling at all that now belonged to him. The whole brownstone emphasized the industrial feel that Harley liked. The rooms were open, no narrow doorways that made him feel claustrophobic like his Queens apartment. None of the furniture were second-hand or cheap IKEA. All the furniture appeared custom-made, constructed with steel and distressed wooden elements. The cushions were made of rustic-colored leather or linen upholstery, complimentary to the exposed brick walls.

The brownstone had three floors with a living room, dining room, an office and even a laundry room, complete with the fanciest washer and dryer he had ever seen in his life. The house included three bedrooms as well. The biggest was his. The king-sized bed dominated the room, but it included a massive television screen on wall opposite, a walk-in closet and a large window that looked down at a little garden and patio below. The other two bedrooms, Harley suspected, were for his sister and a guest bedroom for any visitors.

Harley was overwhelmed. His face ached from the bursting smile, taking in the big screen television, the mini-bar and the smart-home set up he noticed. Did he have his own AI as well? Oh, God, he hoped so!

When Tony said he would reward him, he didn't expect any of this. A triple million dollar home and a hundred thousand dollar car? His life exploded all over again in the most spectacular way.

Suck it, mom, Harley boastfully thought, half-wishing she was here to rub it in her face.

After going through every inch of every room, he reluctantly descended the staircase. Reynolds stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for his return. The man had a small smile when Harley entered.

"Everything to your liking?" Reynolds queried. "If there is anything missing or not to your taste, Stark will be happy to--"

“It's great!" Harley blurted out, eyes sparkling at the priceless items. "Did you see that I have a laundry room? An actual room. For laundry!”

Reynolds snorted a small chuckle. "Yes, yes, yes. You finally made it in New York City."

He guessed he did, taking another scan of his home. His brand new home that flourished with expenses he never dreamed to own. 

“Stark will be happy to hear you like the house," Reynolds said, pleased. Then his face shifted, becoming more gravitas. "Now—I have one more thing.”

Tony already got him a house and a car. What else did the man purchase for him? Harley waited, the anticipation making his mind buzz with endless possibilities. 

Maybe he created a personalized Iron Man suit for him? Harley noticed Tony spent hours in his workshop recently. He remembered seeing holograms of different designs and Tony fiddling with a gadget at his workbench. A smile grew on Harley's face, the rushing of blood to his brain awakening him. Making him more alive. He was going to have an Iron Man suit of his own. Join Tony on important missions. Become an Avenger alongside him. 

Reynolds reached into his pocket and pulled out… a badge? A new badge.

“You're promoted," the captain revealed, passing it to Harley. "Congratulations.”

Harley's heart sunk. The hopes floating him got punctured and he fell down onto the carpeted floor of his sitting room. He did his best to hide the disappointment as he took the badge. It was a little different than his old one, but the security clearance was--holy shit! That was right up with Tony Stark! Did that mean...

His lungs inflated again with a sudden surge of hope.

“You are hereby officially," Reynolds announced, grinning, "...Peter Parker's handler.”

All the bubbling excitement popped.

"Wait…  _what_?" He must not have heard right.

“You’ve been offered the position of being Parker's handler," Reynolds repeated, speaking a little louder as if that would clear up any confusion Harley had. "Or, asset manager. I don't know. Something along those lines.”

“Wh-Wh... Wait a minute," Harley's mind kept tripping over too many words and thoughts for him to form something comprehensive. "He's supposed to be in the Hole. He's going into the Hole. How… H-How can I be his handler if he’s going to the Hole?”

Reynolds's brows furrowed, perplexed. "Peter isn't going to the Hole."

“But... no. No, no, no… that's where he’s supposed to go,” Harley was certain those were the orders. “Straight to the Hole. That's what I was told.”

“Who told you that?”

“People!”

He didn’t remember who exactly told him Parker had a one-way ticket to the Negative Zone, but he was certain it was true. It was a logical sentence for an enhanced fugitive, who assisted the Resistance in terrorizing the city.

Yet, Reynolds chuckled at Harley’s assertion. "Okay—well, whoever told you that, they lied. They didn't know anything," he clarified for Harley. "There were never any orders of Peter being sent to the Hole."

No orders? That wasn't right. It couldn't be right. 

“Why not?" Harley protested. "He's a criminal! A terrorist!”

Another cock of a questionable brow appeared on Reynolds's face. "Is he?"

“Yes! He's... he helped the Resistance! He attacked our agents!" Harley listed, but struggled to think of anything else to add onto. He was certain there were more reasons why Parker needed to be jailed. They simply weren’t at the tip of his tongue at the moment. "He, um... he went against the law... I can keep going.”

"Oh, I'm sure you could go on for hours, but it doesn't matter," Reynolds dismissed Harley's argument, uninterested. “That boy won’t be heading to the Hole. Ever.”

Ever? A heaviness overcame him, pushing him to the floor. All that work. All that effort and… nothing? No, it couldn’t be for nothing. He was an undercover agent for an entire year. He worked tirelessly to put an end to the Queens Resistance. To stop them from interfering with the world’s recovery from the Decimation. He did that. He prevented massive attacks against their systems. He stopped any attempts at hindering all the work Tony did to fix the world. He did that. He… his work didn’t go to waste. It wasn’t disregarded… right?

Harley rubbed the back of his neck, fingers gripping some of the small strands of his hair. “Wh-What about the, um, Resistance?” he probed, needing to know if Jones and the others were handled properly or if they too were simply slapped on the wrist? “Jones, Leeds, Bryant? What about them? Are they arrested?”

Reynolds looked him over hesitantly. “No, they are not,” he admitted. “Units raided the headquarters, but no arrests were made.”

Harley’s jaw clenched hard. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not answer!” Harley barely held back the pulsing anger creeping into his voice. “Why were they not arrested? Hell—they should have been arrested a year ago! I worked my ass off this entire year and you’re throwing it all away for ‘because’?”

“You did what you were sent out to do, kid,” Reynolds said, calm and cool. It made Harley unravel more. “You did your job and now, you move onto the next one.”

Harley was furious. “Yeah, I did my fucking job and now, you’re telling me it was pointless,” He jabbed a finger at Reynolds. “You ordered me to go undercover as a rebel in the Queens Resistance as a spy. To end the resistance in New York for good! I did that. I gave it to you on a silver platter and… you fucking throw it away.”

He turned his back to Reynolds, unable to look at the captain’s cool demeanor. Harley’s breathing became more ragged, deeper and quicker. His eyes stung too. Anger and hurt wrecking him. The morning had started off great with the house and car, but now, it all fell apart. And so did him. He sensed a meltdown approaching, but he couldn’t let that happened.

Somehow, Harley drew himself back up, wiped a hand down his face. The anger still burned, but he had control. He tightened his hold on his emotions, refusing to let it blunder him even more.

Quiet footsteps approached from behind him. He heard the captain clear his throat. “I apologize if you felt mislead in your objective,” he started, making Harley turned to look at him. The captain didn’t look apologetic at all, “but, your assignment was never truly about bringing down the resistance.

“I told you it was in hopes that it made you feel… more valuable to the team,” Reynolds continued his explanation. “You just finished your training. You were eager, wanting to prove yourself and get into Stark’s good graces. And, well, I figured the best position for you would be in the Queens Resistance. An easy, relatively low-key task of simply keeping tabs of the people and their work within the group. Actually, more like keeping tabs on one particular person.”

Harley thought. “Jones?”

“Leeds,” Reynolds corrected. “Ned Leeds was the boy Stark wanted observed.”

Harley’s brows scrunched together. Ned Leeds? That was ridiculous. Why him? Michelle Jones was the power-player. She was the ring-leader. The mastermind behind all their rebellious activities. Ned was simply the computer guy. Did whatever Jones instructed him to do.

“Why would Stark care about Ned? The guy didn’t do anything, not without Jones directing him.”

Reynolds’s head tilted low to the side, staring exasperatedly at him. “How do you still not get it?”

“Get what?” He grew more agitated by Reynolds’ riddles. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The captain shook his head, acting tired of this redundant talk. “Look, I don’t have the time to sit down and have therapy with you,” he remarked. “If it’ll make you happy, I doubt the resistance will regroup after last night. We took their headquarters. Got all their papers. They’ll know we have their names and addresses. They’ll be too afraid to step out of line.

“It’s done,” Reynolds pressed on, his words drilling into Harley’s ear. “You did your job. You made Stark a happy man, and he rewarded you handsomely for your work. You got a house, a car and a promotion out of it. If you’re still pissed off, then take it up with Stark, okay? He’s the one that okayed not charging your frenemies.

“And now I have officially wasted fifteen minutes,” Reynolds huffed, his eye twitching due to his diminishing patience. “What’s your decision? Are you going to take the job or rescind it? I gotta tell Stark if he needs to find someone else for the job, so… what’s it going to be?”

It annoyed Harley that Reynolds swept it all under the rug. Like Harley’s feelings didn’t matter. And that his work as an agent was pointless. It was like being sucker-punched right in the heart when Reynolds told him that they essentially gave him a throwaway job. A busy assignment simply to keep him occupied and happy.  

What would have made Harley happy was if they took him seriously, treated him with respect and gave him a more responsible, significant position within the organization. Not another lousy job.

The captain noticed Harley’s dwindling enthusiasm. "The job is a great honor, Harley." 

Harley scoffed, arms folded tight across his chest, and moved to the window. He understood the underlying meaning of "asset manager". Babysitting. Glorified babysitting. It was not a promotion, but a demotion. Reynolds had a hand in it. A way to get back at Harley for his insubordination. The captain probably convinced Tony that it was an honorable position when it did nothing but derailed Harley's projection within the agency. He wanted to be Tony's right-hand man. Instead, he was offered a belittling position of his status. 

Did Reynolds truly believe Harley would accept it? He must be insane! And cruel to expect Harley to thank him after such a slap to the face. He deserved better.

He heard Reynolds let out a quiet sigh. "I know you’re upset about the fallout with the resistance, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Millions would kill for this job," he said, in another lame attempt to make Harley grateful. “If you’re not interested, I’ll let Stark know you turned it down. Find something easier for you to do.”

Harley whirled around, fists clenched. "Find something  _easier_? What's more easy than  _babysitting_?" he challenged, anger bursting at the seams of his restraint. "I'm not an idiot! I know what you're trying to do."

“I'm not trying to do anything," Reynolds claimed with indifference. "If you don't want the job, then I'll tell Stark. Like I said, there are millions who would want the position. You were just the first person offered it.”

“Only because you told Tony to offer it to me," Harley rebutted, arms crossed tight in front of him. "This is punishment for disobeying you last night, isn’t?”

Reynolds face went dark. "As much as I would like to do so, it’s not punishment," he said, tersely. "Honestly, I encouraged Stark to pick another person. Someone more suitable for the job, but he insisted on you."

It was Tony’s idea? Why? Did the man lose confidence in his skills? Harley did his best. He did everything the man wanted. He reported the Queens Resistance’s activities. He found out about Parker. He caught him too, and would have hand-delivered Parker to Tony if Shadow Company stayed out it. Why did Tony demote him to a lowly position? He must have done something wrong, but he could make it up. If he talked to Tony for a minute…

He took out his phone and dialed Tony’s number. I went directly to voicemail.

“Is Tony available?” Harley asked, getting ready to redial. “I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him.”

“He’s busy.”

“No, no, I need to talk to him now,” Harley insisted, re-dialing. “It won’t take very long.”

It went to voicemail again.

Reynolds watched on, pathetically. He clearly saw the agonizing conflict Harley endured, and offered his wisdom. “Listen—while I don’t necessary agree with Stark’s choice, I will say that you would be a fool to turn it down.”

Harley cocked a doubtful brow in his direction, to which only Reynolds continued on.

“I know how much you aspire to be like Stark,” Reynolds said, knowing too well Harley’s harboring aspirations to be like Iron Man, “and taking this position, while it may seem like a set-back, will help you get there. I know it doesn’t sound  _grand_ , but as you can tell by your security clearance, it gets you a seat at the head table.”

“How so?” Harley questioned, baffled by how babysitting a captured rogue got him a seat at the head table.

“Because you’ll be working with Stark more than you would have being a field agent,” Reynolds stated matter-of-factly. “This isn’t a “babysitting gig”, Harley. It’s more than that, and it will require discipline, patience and flexibility. None of which are your strong suits. That’s why I told Stark to reconsider, but that man believes you can do it.”

“He does?”

Reynolds nodded. “Yeah, he does,” he admitted. “Says you’re his man.”

A swell of satisfaction rose in him, expressed by the slightest curve at his mouth’s corner. A youthful confidence brightened his eyes, a raise of an eyebrow in a quizzical, but joyful realization. Harley was Tony’s man. Tony said that. Well, to Reynolds, who could be lying to him, but Harley didn’t think the captain lied. He wouldn’t lie to Harley about that.

Tony really believed Harley to be his right-hand man.

The quietness stretched too long for Reynolds turned away, heading back to the stairs. “I’ll let Stark know he needs to find another person.”

The statement pulled Harley out of his thoughts as he chased Reynolds to the staircase. “Wait!” he called, coming to a stop as Reynolds lingered at the top of the stairs. “I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” Reynolds queried, reluctant to trust Harley’s acceptance. “You were pretty adamant about not wanting it.”

Harley nodded. “Yeah,” he said, definite. “Tell Tony I’m in.”

Reynolds accepted Harley’s confirmation, returning to the sitting room to go over a few details of the job. Harley listened to his new list of responsibilities, all of them sounding much like babysitting. He swallowed the bitterness down as Reynolds explained the importance of the job.

“Again, Harley, this is not a babysitting job,” Reynolds reminded, as he rose up from the chair. “Trust me on this. It’s not an easy job. You’re going to have a lot on your plate, and a lot of stress along with it. You’re going to need to loosen up if you want to do well.”

Harley tried his best to not scoff. “I raised my sister and survived my mother,” he told Reynolds. “I’ll be fine.”

A faint memory overshadowed Reynolds’s eyes. “I thought that too,” he murmured, heading down the stairs to the front door. “I’ll be in touch in regards to your start date. Enjoy the house and car, Harley.”

The captain left in a town car, leaving Harley in the foyer. He climbed the stairs again, strolling through his new brownstone, his hands sliding across the dark mahogany bookcases and the fine leather couch. He took it all in, wildly appreciating everything Tony gave him. The man did so much for him. Everything really. Gave him a job and income, and now a brownstone and a car. Harley meant it when he said Tony was his family more than his own biological mother. The man cared and loved him.

And Harley knew he needed to pay the man back. One of the reasons why he ultimately agreed to become Parker’s babysitter. Tony wanted him to do it. Needed him to do it. It was something Harley could do for Tony after everything Tony did for him and his sister.

Harley may not like it, but for Tony, he would do it. He would do anything Tony Stark ever asked him.

That was what a good son did.

* * *

The day arrived.

Harley’s first day on the job as Parker’s handler. Or manager. Basically, babysitter.

He awoke fresh, sitting up in his massive king-sized bed, looking out the window to not see the ugly boarded up buildings of Queens. He saw trees and restored bricked homes. Morning light splashed over the room, brightening it that he awoke without the need of his alarm. In fact, his alarm wouldn’t go off for another fifteen minutes. Life was blessed.

He didn’t sleep those extra minutes. He got up, showered, dressed and headed to the kitchen to fix himself a coffee and have a small breakfast. Throughout the process, he went back-and-forth on his decision.

Harley slept uneasy last night, plagued with doubts of the new job. Not of his capability, but if it was the right choice. He debated his decision multiple times, and the morning of the job was more intense. As the time ticked down, he grew to thoroughly dislike the idea of downsizing to babysitter, thinking he needed to call Reynolds and let him know he made a mistake.

But, it was too late and Tony was counting on him. Harley pepped himself up by reminding him that Tony specifically wanted him, and that he took the job for Tony. The Invincible Iron Man asked for his help, and Harley was going to do give it.

He drove in his new Audi R8, sunglasses propped over his eyes, to the Tower. He had a designated parking spot in the garage, guiding the vehicle between the white lines. It was close to the elevator, where everyone could see his brand new car.

That brought a smirk to his face as he caught a few onlookers gaping at the shiny, new vehicle. Yeah, I won an Audi now, Harley wanted to say to them.

He took the elevator up. He didn’t know where he was meeting Parker, but FRIDAY knew. She directed his ride, ascending him up. Floor after floor, Harley watched the numbers tick by. He was going higher than ever.

When the elevator pinged and the doors opened, Harley froze. He expected a corridor. Not the penthouse suite. Tentatively, he stepped out of the elevator. The floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding him allowed a lot of natural light to shine and sparkle the entire layout. Everything was pristine and modern. Almost like it came straight out of a photoshoot.

Harley circled, awed. Expensive paintings hung on the walls. Elaborate statues graced corners. Ample white and grey furnishing lounged the spacious room. And the view! Harley walked up to the glass, gazing upon the city below his feet. Skyscrapers sprouted from the ground with roads cutting through in New York City’s famous grid pattern. New York was famous for being loud, but from where Harley stood, he heard nothing.  All was quiet up here in the clouds.

Harley felt like Zeus from Mount Olympus, checking down on civilization below. He quite liked the feeling of being a god.

“There he is!”

Harley snapped his head away from the windows, backing away right as Tony strolled towards him. It was the first time Harley saw Tony dressed so… so casual. The man normally wore slacks or jeans, with a T-shirt or button shirt, and a sport coat. Never in his life had Harley seen the man wear sweatpants.

Tony Stark wore grey sweatpants, white drawstrings tied in a knot in front. His impeccable appearance forgone too. Replaced with bleary-eyes, unshaven facial hair and hair messy, like the man didn’t get any sleep in days. But, the tiredness didn’t hinder Tony. The man waltzed over with a wide, happy smile. His eyes alit when he looked at Harley.

All those disgruntles Harley had from earlier dissipated, leaving him lighter and happier. He no longer had regrets of his decision. Seeing Tony, hearing the delight in his tone, was enough to know he made the right choice. Harley matched Tony’s smile, ecstatic to be there with Iron Man.

“Sorry about the wait,” Tony apologized, stepping up in front of Harley. “We’ve had a slow start this morning.”

“Oh, um, don’t worry about it,” Harley brushed away the pointless apology. It was not necessary and Harley didn’t even realized he was waiting. Too distracted by how awesome the penthouse was. “I was admiring the view, and,” Harley let out a low, impressed whistle, “you have a nice place.”

“Is this your first time?” Tony questioned, brows furrowing in curiosity. “Here, I mean.”

Harley nodded. He never came up to the penthouse before. He’s been to Tony’s place at the Compound. Briefly, though. Just to grab something Tony left behind on the coffee table. When he and Tony had dinners, it was typically in a closed lounge or out in a restaurant. Never had Tony invited him to his home in the penthouse.

“I’ll have to give you a tour sometime,” Tony said, nudging his head in a direction further into the penthouse. “Everyone else is in the kitchen. Come on and I’ll introduce you.”

Harley followed Tony as the man kept talking. “How’s the house? You like it?”

“Oh, yes,” Harley answered. “It’s amazing Tony. Really. I… I still can’t believe you bought me a house!”

Tony shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s nothing. Not compared to everything you’ve done for me these past few years,” he replied, shooting Harley a proud grin. “But, it’s all right? The place has enough space and everything? Anything that needs redone or something you might need?”

“It’s great,” Harley reassured him. “Perfect even.”

“Laundry? Jacuzzi? Massive television with surround sound?”

“Yes, and thank you,” Harley said, remembering the giddiness of finding the Jacuzzi. “I love it. Love the car too.”

Tony smirked at that, overly pleased on Harley’s love of the vehicle. “Who doesn’t like a R8?” he joked. “I remembered you telling me how you wish you could own a car like mine, so I bought one for you. Did you drive it today? How did it feel?”

“Felt like freedom and power.”

Tony huffed a short chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you like the car, and the house,” he said, coming up to an open archway. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Tony asked, steering the conversation onto a new topic. “The chef is still here. I can have her whip up an omelet for you.”

“Oh, I had a cup of coffee and a bagel this morning,” Harley didn’t want to hassle Tony. The man needed to slow down. He looked like he was running on exhaust based on the heavy bags underneath his eyes.

“So, one bacon and cheese omelet,” Tony hummed. “Don’t want to start the day on an empty stomach.”

He quickened his pace, crossing the threshold into what Harley assumed was the kitchen. Harley knew what laid beyond. With a deep breath and a confidence boost, he crossed over the line and into the kitchen with Tony.

The chef was still there, as Tony said. She wore a classical chef outfit, including a small hat. She hunkered over the counter, pressing an orange into a juicer. She didn’t look up at all, too focused on her work to be distracted by a new person joining them.

But, Harley’s attention didn’t last on her. Instead, it was on the table. He instantly recognized Happy Hogan. Tony’s former chauffer sat in one of the chairs, hunched over with his arms folded on top of the table. He was talking, his words soft and sounding reassuring. He dressed like normally did every day. Suit and tie. Like the chef, he didn’t pay much attention to their emergence into the room. Happy’s focus was on the person who sat at the head of the table.

Peter Parker.

The boy looked… better. Less pale and gaunt. No bloody wound either. He was cleaner too with a new shirt and pants, similar to what Tony was wearing at the moment. He got a haircut as well. It was shorter and brushed, the curls tamed and no knots to make it resemble like a bird’s nest. Unlike everyone else around him, Parker looked exactly as he felt—tired and wary.

The boy was slumped in his chair, his movements sloth-like as he poked his food with his fork. Happy must have been encouraging him to eat, but Parker wasn’t interested in the omelet or the fruit or the glass of orange juice the chef suddenly placed in front of him.

Happy pulled the glass toward the boy, insisting, “Doctor’s orders, kid.”

Parker frowned in a pout, but he took the glass from Happy. He managed a single gulp before setting it back down. And that was when he noticed Harley.

Harley watched a strange reaction occur over Parker’s face. The boy sat up, panic flooding those eyes as he darted between Tony to Harley. Harley imagined what the poor boy thought. Did they catch him? Were the Resistance captured too? A couple seconds lapsed, and Parker’s concern shifted into puzzlement. His face scrunched in confliction as he saw how relaxed both Harley and Tony were beside one another.

Harley braced himself as Tony walked over to Parker. A hand on Parker’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze to grab ahold of the boy’s attention.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said to the boy. “I want you to meet Harley Keener.” Tony then turned to Harley. “Har—this is Peter. Peter Parker.”

The boys stared at each other.

Harley took a brave step forward. “Hello.”

And Parker returned with a seething glare.

That single moment of exchange had Harley regretting his decision all over again.

Was it too late to back out now? God—he hated this. Despite his feelings, he refused to rescind. This was for Tony. He was doing it for Tony. Iron Man asked for his help, wanted him for his help. Needed his skills to contain Parker. And, Harley couldn’t let Tony down.

Harley couldn’t disappoint Tony.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, as he surrendered all hope of this ever going well. Long days were ahead of him.

Because Harley didn’t miss the animosity burning in Parker’s eyes.


	10. Welcome Home, Peter - Vol. 2

The night did not go as expected. 

When Peter crawled out of the tunnels to visit Ned for his friend’s belated birthday, he figured it would be a quiet evening atop of one of Columbia’s buildings. Eat leftover cake from the small birthday party he had with his family, talk about everything and nothing, and Ned would show his software program he was designing for school. All things Peter imagined they would have done anyway if things happened differently. Except, not in the dead of night and on rooftops of academia buildings.

And no bullet wound.

Peter didn’t expect to see Lady Deathstrike patrolling the streets. He didn’t expect her to give chase either. Then drones came from nowhere, speeding after him. He heard sirens and tires squealing. It became madness on the streets. Safety gone, Peter climbed the building in hopes to get away. Only that too ended with pain and a fight for survival.

And then Tony Stark landed.

The last time he saw that man was on Titan. Right in the midst of a deadly squabble, where he turned against them. His own allies, shooting them down and using the gauntlet against them.

It was those last memories that struck Peter hard, rooting him to the rooftop. Everything slowed. Iron Man dropped from the skies, breaking apart immediately to reveal the man underneath. A dangerous man.

And when that dangerous man stepped forward, a shiver ran down his spine. He stumbled backwards, away as an onslaught of memories bombarded him. Every blink changed into a new scene. He watched Mantis drop, witnessed Captain America dissolve, and felt his aunt crumble in his hands.

A new fire burned within him as he steeled himself. He glared right back at Tony, knowing he needed to act. He raised his arm, unsure what he was going to do, but, it didn’t matter. A gunshot rang and he fell off the roof.

It gave him a chance to escape and he took it, not looking back.

Peter stumbled into a small, darken doorway, gasping for a breath. The sniper’s aim was perfect. The wound bled profusely, weakening him despite his healing powers attempt to stitch itself back together. It burned, almost like the wound was an invisible flame pressed against his shoulder. It was too much. It was a strain for him, extinguishing all the energy he had. It became hard to concentrate where he needed to go and the dangers surrounding him.

His spider-sense blared non-stop, relentless in its persistence for immediate attention. Immediate action. But for what? His old teammates chasing him? Shadow Company’s attempts to kill him? From his bullet wound? All of them?

All he knew was that he had to keep moving. Don’t stop. One unsteady foot in front of the other until he reached the tunnels. He plodded down the streets, taking short-cuts whenever possible to avoid being seen. Head ducked low, not daring to look anyone in the eye. Not willing to give them a face to remember if ever asked.

He hoped MJ was all right. He worried for her. Not that he didn’t trust her to handle herself, but with Shadow Company scouring the city for him, it was dangerous. They never had qualms about hurting innocents to get what they wanted. Peter learned from first-hand experience on multiple occasions.

And there was Harley too. Peter felt utterly horrible for abandoning Harley on the bus. The guy was injured and Peter ran away, left him to fend for himself. It was for the best though. If Peter stayed, Harley would be in more danger. Possibly even killed. Constrictor’s ambush in the alleyway nearly did kill the guy.

Peter knew it was for the best. They wouldn’t chase after Harley if he wasn’t with him. Peter hoped Harley had another place to go. Maybe to the Resistance headquarters? Stay low there. Harley would explain what happened to MJ when she arrived. Unless, she got caught as well.

His heart clenched at the thought. Oh, Peter hoped not.

He breathed hard, focusing on anything he could to distract himself from the pain. He let the city’s noise wash over him, motivating himself with soothing promises that if he reached the tunnels he would be safe.

But, deep down, he knew it was a lie. It was always a lie. Peter was never safe when it came to SHIELD. Or to Tony Stark.

Peter miraculously made it to the secret entrance. He heaved the manhole open and slid down the ladder, quickly covering it back up. There were a few entrances, but Peter preferred this particular one because of the seclusion. No one saw him enter or leave.

Peter let out a breath of relief. He made it back to camp. Away from onlookers and SHIELD units.

His head still prickled. The tingling sensation buzzed inside his skull. Something wasn’t right, but his spider-sense has been on the fritz for a while. Even more since the night started. And it didn’t help that blood continued to freely ooze. He needed to get that taken care of.

He hobbled down the tunnel, heading to where he kept his belongings and supplies. Not that he had much. Only items Ned and MJ brought down or what he managed to grab when he ventured out in the dead of night.

The tunnel curled into the infinite dark, with only specks of an odd light casting an odd glow here and there. The cavern walls were rough, untreated from years of disuse and abandonment. Peter kept a hand on the wall to guide him, dragging it across as he picked up grime and dust.

Dust of lost heroes.

Peter stopped and slammed his eyes, willing his mind not to fall back to the memories. To not replay what he witnessed. What he heard on during the horrible moment that continued to echo for eternity in his own mind. He pressed his hands into a fist, drawing his attention back to the wound, using that newfound pain to stabilize himself. To come back to the present.

He gasped, choking back to life as regain his footing. The memories dwindled back into the vault, tucked away until triggered again. Head pounded relentlessly and unforgiving. All the adrenaline inside him dissipated, and his knees wobbled, almost giving away. He needed to sit down. Rest and recover from tonight’s events.

Peter’s hand touched the curve of the stone-doorway. A vibrant white light beaconed him home from inside the room. He must have left one of his flashlights on.

He turned the corner, staggering into his makeshift sanctuary. His worries distracted him that he jumped at the sight of another person in the room. Their back was turned, looking around Peter’s cramped quarters.

Peter’s abrupt halt caused the person to turn instantly.

It was Tony Stark.

* * *

Peter stiffened, body incapacitated as his brain stuttered. Not even a breath passed his lips. A glisten of cold sweat shined on his forehead, and his eyes were wide. Peter stood, cradling his injured arm and mouth agape as he took in the fact Tony Stark found his secret refuge.

Tony Stark found him.

The man removed his sunglasses. Brown eyes stared back at him. The same brown eyes Peter remembered that used to crinkle in the corners whenever he did something amusing or monumental. The same brown eyes that glared hard at him during times of mistakes, when Peter wanted nothing more than to bury himself forever. The same brown eyes that soften whenever Peter struggled through a nightmare.

At this striking moment, those brown eyes looked at him with something Peter couldn't pinpoint. Tenderness swelled in those irises, deepen with anxiety as Tony absorbed Peter's rigid position in the doorway. 

Peter managed a shuddered breath. He scanned the room, half-expecting for more people, all cocking their guns and aiming at him, like on the rooftop.

But, it was only Tony. Just him and Iron Man.

Tony's eyes drifted down, a merciful shift in his expression. "You're bleeding."

Tony moved, closing the distance between them. Peter stayed still, only reacting when Tony’s hand hovered over his wound. Peter’s brain rebooted, as did the rest of his limbs. He jerked away, slamming his elbow into the cavern wall behind him.

He let out a sharp wince.

Tony paused, rethinking, and retracted his hand. "I, um... I brought bandages," he said, turning on his heel to go to a duffel bag that rested on the couch. Peter’s bed.

Peter watched Tony dig through the bag, pulling out a kit that sported a big Red Cross symbol. "Had Cho create this one specifically for you,” said Tony.

He didn't pass the kit to Peter. He remained by the couch, first aid kit in hand, waiting for Peter to make the next move. Peter had the urge to turn and run, but in his state, it would have been futile. His wound festered, stinging at the pressure, and retaliating at every breath he took and every beat his heart made. If he didn’t get medical attention, Peter was certain to pass-out. That was not optimal. Unconscious and at the mercy of Iron Man. Peter couldn’t let that happen. He needed to be awake. Stay alert.

With no other choice, Peter took slow, tentative steps to the couch. He kept a good berth between them, coming right up to the other end of the couch. Lifting his good arm up, he gestured for the kit to be handed over to him.

Tony hesitated. “I should—”

“No,” Peter stated, not caring for Tony’s thoughts. “I can patch myself up fine.”

Tony reluctantly handed the kit and Peter settled on the couch. Thankfully, Tony understood not to sit down as well. He remained standing, fussing with his cufflinks as he observed Peter’s medical procedure. Peter started to take off his shirt. Blood glued the fabric to the skin, pulling on the rigid edges of the wound. It flared, forcing him to suck on his lower lip to manage the stinging sensation.

He ignored the pain long enough to remove the shirt entirely, but he forgotten about Harley’s homemade bandage with a washcloth. And duct tape. Right on his skin, by the wound.

Peter inwardly groaned. This was going to hurt.

Carefully, he picked the edge of the tape from his skin and peeled it back. Slow and steady. The skin pulled up with it, stretching up before it fell back after becoming unstuck. Peter braced the pain, swallowing it in thick gulps as he tried to control his breathing. His charade worked well until the tape got close to the wound. It pulled the skin, tearing it back and making the wound larger.

His brave, stoic face broke, ruined by a whimpered hiss he made when his wound gave a vicious throb.

Tony immediately cut across the boundary line, coming right up to him. “Here,” he ordered, trying to pull Peter’s hand away from the tape, “let me—”

Peter tugged away. “I got it,” and to prove it, he ripped the tape off in one stroke.

The sheer pain blinded all of his senses. Every inch felt like fire. Like the previous small flame in his shoulder combusted into wildfire, sweeping over his entire body. It consumed and trapped him in agony, overpowering his control. His mind started to black out. Little dots danced in front of him. He blinked quickly to remove them, to regain focus, but it did little to ebb the pain.

A voice in the back of his head told him to breathe. Peter sucked in as much as he could, holding it. Still holding it. Now his lungs burned. Why was he holding it in?

Lips parted and wisps of the withheld breaths escaped. Chest collapsing, but the voice told him to do it again. In. Out. In. Out.

The dots began to fade. Retreating back into the corners and out of sight until Peter saw the dank walls again. Smelled the mildew wafting up his nostrils. And shivered from the chill of the dampness on his sweaty skin.

And, he felt a gentle pressure on his wound.

Peter blinked again, dropping his head down to look at his shoulder. A hand was there, pressing a bandage over the wound. The touch was gentle, careful to not agitate it. The cool gel underneath extinguished the flame, smoldering it. Peter physically relaxed. His spine curled and he sunk back at ease. Feeling free of the burden and misery.

“There you go, Pete,” said the voice next to him, as the hand smoothed the bandage to ensure no wrinkles or loose coverings. “We’ll need to get that bullet out of you, but this will have to do for now.”

Peter’s eyes went wide again, head whipping up to find Tony kneeling beside him. The open medical kit on the floor next to him and wrappings of the bandages and gel packets scattered around near the man’s knees.

Peter jolted, scuttling away from Tony’s reach. He nearly threw himself to the other end of the couch, grabbing onto the arms rest of the couch to pull him to safety. How did Tony get that close to him? Peter’s senses should have warned him. If not that, his eyes should have saw Tony take the kit from him and start bandaging him up. How did he miss it all? Why did he let himself be vulnerable to that man?

“Easy, Pete,” Tony advised, hands raised to show no foul play, but Peter knew better. “Just bandaging you up. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Peter checked his arms and feeling his neck for any incisions. “What did you do?”

“I only bandaged the wound.”

Peter didn’t believe him, hands running all over his body in a desperate search for any bumps or cuts. Tony rolled his eyes and closed the kit.

“Look, kid, you pitched forward and nearly clonked yourself on the head,” he said. “You were completely out of it, so I helped. That’s it.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“I figured, but you needed it and I was here,” Tony returned, rising to his feet. He pointed to the duffel Peter scrambled over. “There’s a clean shirt in there if you want it.”

Peter peeked inside the duffel bag, spying the grey shirt with the Stark Industries logo printed in the center. Not thrilled to represent Stark’s company, Peter pulled the shirt over his head, covering himself up. At least it was clean. Most of his clothes were not.

Tony milled about, surveying the room with an unimpressed grimace. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he commented. “Makes these old tunnels feel homier than they should be.”

Peter grinded his teeth, refusing to say a word to encourage the man. Unfortunately, his lack of voice only gave Tony more time to talk aloud.

“You know, I have to hand it to Rogers,” Tony continued. “I did not think of the tunnels. Then again, I wasn’t born in the Forties like him. What would I care about some outdated, pointless tunnels in  _Brooklyn_? Probably why he thought it was the perfect campsite for his band of misfits.”

Tony strolled about the room, checking a few things here and there. Found a few things Peter was certain he recognized. Like Black Widow’s widow-bites. Or Sam’s flying machine. Maybe even recognized one of the broken arrows that once belonged to Hawkeye.

If he did, Tony pretended it had no effect on him. He continued his loop around the room. His expression unreadable. Always stoic and furrowed.

“Should have caught on sooner,” Tony mumbled, turning away from the collection and back to Peter. “But, I was a bit preoccupied with more important things.”

“Like world domination?” Peter uttered, shifting his injured shoulder to a more comfortable angle.

Tony pulled a face. “World domination is only for narcissistic losers,” he stated. “Since I’m only one of those, it doesn’t entice me.” Tony slid his hands into his pockets. “Too cliché.”

Peter wanted to snort. Probably would have if every breath he took didn’t burn his lungs. “Yet, you did it anyway,” Peter shook his head, dejected. “You won, Mr. Stark. You got everything you wanted.”

“Not everything.”

His voice sounded forlorn, but Peter recognized that old trick. Learned it the hard way. He knew better than to get wrapped up in Tony’s words.

Peter shook his head and scoffed. “Captain America is gone,” he reminded Tony. “You don’t need me anymore.”

And that was what Peter clung to over the last three years. Tony no longer had any use for him. The only reason Iron Man took an interest in him was because of his powers, making him the most capable person to stop Captain America. The greatest weapon in his arsenal. But, Peter was useless now. Tony won the war, decimated Captain America and anyone else who stood in his way. Or whoever simply annoyed him. Peter wasn't quite sure what Tony Stark did with the gauntlet, but he knew the man got what he sought. Unlimited power. Complete control of the universe. 

Peter was now an artifact. A broken antique that once held meaning and purpose. Not anymore. 

Tony stared, expression penitent. “That’s not true.”

Peter scoffed, shaking his head at Tony’s pitiful attempt to flatter him. He knew of his purpose back at the Compound. Happy Hogan even said it when the former boxer taught Peter some boxing maneuvers. Peter was being groomed to take on Captain America. Without Captain America around, Peter was of disuse.

“You know..." Tony started, drawing Peter out of his dead thoughts, "you're the only person who uses the term ‘won’. Everyone else says 'we lost' when talking about the Decimation.”

"Because they did," Peter replied, staring at the exact spot he watched Black Widow burst into ash, along with countless others. Including his Aunt May. “Everyone, but you.”

Peter scanned the room again. The room where the Rogue Avengers stood their last ground before one by one, they crumbled into ash. Disappeared out of existence. Now, only Tony stood visible in the room.

Except, Peter knew Tony didn’t come without back-up. The man never waltzed into a situation without a plan. A plan that consisted of repulsor blasts or trained soldiers. Peter checked his other sense. His spider-sense. He expected to sense the rest of the army somewhere in the tunnels, lying in wait until Tony gave them the signal.

His spider-sense didn’t pick up anything. Remained a low hum. Calm and unthreatened. Unusual considering Peter’s nightmare was right in front of him. His spider-sense must be on the fritz again. Since that awful night, his senses worked sporadic, failing to notify him of incoming dangers or over-stimulating, making everything a danger. Tonight was the worst. All night it drummed or blared in the back of his head, but now it went eerie quiet.

He had to forgo trusting his senses. Be direct to get answers.

“How many agents are around the corner?” asked Peter.

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “None. Just me.”

“Uh-huh, so… probably about two teams? Shadow Company and my old team, yeah?” Peter speculated, craning his neck to peek around the corner of the doorway. It was dark. He saw nothing. “A few extras too?”

“It’s really just me,” Tony swore before he gestured above his head. “Happy is up by the car, but that’s about it. It’s only you and me down here. No one else.”

Peter didn’t believe him. He was chased by Shadow Company throughout the night. He doubted Tony came alone. The man sent an army to capture him on the rooftop and at Harley’s apartment. He most likely steered them to the tunnels, having them nearby and at ready upon his command.

Peter straightened his back, glaring up at Tony with mistrust. “If it really is just you and me then,” he challenged, “what happens next?”

Tony took two cautious steps to the couch, hands deep in his pockets. “Depends on you.”

“Me?”

Tony nodded, inching closer to the couch again. “It’s entirely up to you,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Not true,” Tony countered, head tilted over his left shoulder. “I’m curious to know what it is that you want. What does Peter Parker want?”

Peter searched the man. It was a trick. Peter didn’t need his spider-sense working to know an illusion. Tony wore a façade, hiding true intentions behind that compassionate mask. Tony didn’t give a damn about what he wanted. Never did. Because if Tony did, if he truly cared, he would know what Peter wanted. What he’s been wanting since the two of them ever met.

Peter pulled his legs up, perched like a mantis on the couch. He eyed the doorway again, double-checking for any movement or a glimmer of a gun. Only the tunnel’s darkness was revealed to him.

He steeled himself and looked back to Tony. “Whatever I do next depends on you,” he pointed out. “Which means it’s back to you—why are you here? What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” stated Tony.

Peter grew impatient with the mind games. “Just answer the question! Or if you don't want to say it, then do it already. Get it over with."

Tony scrutinized him with a sharp, perplexed stare. "What is it exactly do you think I'm going to do, Pete?"

A million ideas crossed Peter’s head over the last three years, but it only ever came back to one. "I know you need people to keep seeing you as the hero," he said, "and with me around... with people knowing I'm alive... you can't have that."

Peter’s insinuation paralyzed Tony. The man’s face morphed in pained bewilderment, his eyes round in utter disbelief. “You think I want you dead?”

Peter shrugged. Too many conflicting things happened between them for Peter to ever be certain of Tony Stark’s motive. He never knew what the man wanted. Every time Peter thought he figured Tony out, the man switched it around on him. Peter never could keep up. Probably why he lost.

It took Tony a moment to process Peter’s silent response. When it did, he approached the couch. His steps slow and deliberate, as if to not alarm Peter into action. The lines in his forehead deepened, eyes sad. 

“I don’t want you dead.”

Oh, then that meant…

Ice encased him again. It dripped right down his spine, goosebumps crawling over his arms. Even the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up at the reminder of the madness he suffered.

Peter sucked in a strained breath, hands clutching his knees in vice grip. “Sending me to the Hole then, huh?” he said through numb lips. “Makes sense. I mean, no more wizards to let me out, so… you got that going for you.”

Tony immediately shook his head. “No—no, I’m not… you’re not going to the Hole. Not ever.”

“Said that once before.”

Tony’s mouth clamped shut. He remembered that old promise too. Didn’t stop him from doing it the first time.

Tony pulled back, lowering his gaze as he cleared his throat. “That was a mistake,” he confessed. “I was angry and hurt, and I was being impulsive. But it’s—”

“Different now?” Peter guessed, refusing to let Tony twist anything. “Not really.”

He thought about Titan again. The gauntlet that Tony picked up from where Peter dropped it. He watched the man hold it, power blossoming in those irises. The refusal to listen to reason. Emotionally reacting and lashing out, sparing no one. Not even Peter.

Tony shifted on the cushion. He stared at Peter in a strange new way that made Peter feel peculiar. Something serious about to be said.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Tony claimed, pausing. “What I was trying to convey—

His words were cut off by rushing sound of footsteps. The fast approaching footsteps had a wet sound, feet slapping the little stream of water from the leftover rainstorm. Each footfall was chaotically spaced. At first, Peter thought it was Shadow Company. Tony finally gave the orders to act. But, as he heightened his hearing, he confirmed it was only one person.

Whoever it was, they sounded scared. Their frantic breaths, non-rhythm sprint and slightly raised heartbeat alerted Peter that the person was desperate, willingly to blindly run in the dark tunnels. Peter had no idea who it could be and checked back to Tony, but the man’s brows were drawn into a quizzical furrow. He didn’t know who it was either.

Then, a voice reverberated along the walls. Peter’s heart dropped.

MJ.

* * *

“Peter!” MJ’s voice carried down the tunnel to them. “Hey, Peter! Are you here?”

All sensory input became intensified. A power surge in the synapses of his mind, cranking everything up to a hundred. He could see a shadow among the darkness, growing bigger by each second. The vibrations from MJ’s voice sank deep into Peter, his nerve-endings kicking each other over again and again. It tingled from the back of his neck, down to his arms, and to the bottom of his feet.

MJ was coming closer. All Peter thought was MJ turning the corner and be shot by a repulsor blast. Like Mantis was.

The image of MJ’s body crumbling broke through his paralysis. Peter sprung to his feet, mouth opened to warn MJ. To shout at her to run. Save herself.

It was too late.

MJ rounded the corner. Her hair was more frazzled and curlier than normal. Cheeks puffing out with each panted breath she took. A plastic bag swung at her side as she ran into the room. Her eyes caught Peter, mouth lifting up in a smile of relief…

Until it crashed when she saw Iron Man.

She jerked back. Surprise distorted her face. She stood numbly, unable to believe it. Her eyes bounced between Peter and Iron Man, and Peter could see her mind catching up with what she saw. Her face went incredibly pale and sagged in sudden terror.

Peter kept hold of his breath, trapped in an endless fear. MJ was in danger. Any second, Tony would whip out his repulsor and fire a single blast straight to her chest. He needed to act, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. Too bombarded by the terrors of the memories from Titan.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony rise up from the couch. He. The man stepped forward, hand stretching out…

“You must be—”

MJ sparked to life. Her hand dove into the bag. She yanked something out, yelled “Peter—  _run!_ ” and chucked whatever was in her hand right at Tony’s head.

Peter didn’t run.

Being Iron Man and a former Avenger, Tony easily dodged the projectile. He side-stepped, watching the object land on the couch cushion behind him. Tony eyed the object, brows raised, and he picked it up.

“Adhesive bandage?” Tony chuckled as he examined the roll. “The hydrogen peroxide would have been a better choice. Do a bit more damage,” He tossed the bandage roll aside. “Still wouldn’t do anything though. Being Iron Man, I’ve faced bullets, bombs and gods. Medical supplies don’t compare.

“Love the effort, though,” Tony added, throwing up that arrogant smirk of his—confident and cocky. “Definitely see how you caught Pete’s eye.”

Peter’s whole body clenched. His face burned, turning almost into a cherry, and his mind scattered like a scared rabbit. Especially when Tony approached MJ.

“It appears Peter lost his manners—Tony Stark,” Again, he stuck out his hand in a proffered shake. MJ didn’t take it. “Must be a generation thing,” he mumbled, retracting his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Jones.”

Hearing her name be spoken by Tony struck Peter cold. Impossible. Tony shouldn’t know her name. He shouldn’t know! Peter looked back to MJ. She too looked surprised. Her mouth agape as she stared, unbelievable, at the fact Tony Stark knew her name.

“Y-You know me?” MJ queried.

Tony nodded. Apparently, he knew more than just her name.

“Michelle Jones. Nineteen years of age. Undergrad at NYU,” Tony started to recite off from what he remembered. “Leader of the so-called Queen’s Resistance, located in an abandoned church, alongside Ned Leeds, Betty Bryant, Harley Keener, Elijah Bradley, Sally—I can keep going, but I think you are painting a pretty picture inside that head of yours.”

Peter’s heart stopped as a chill ran over him. MJ held an incredulous expression. “H-How do you know all that?” she stammered.

“Oh, I know everything. I know every detail,” Tony nonchalantly remarked. “What? You act surprised? Weren’t you at all curious as to why your little resistance survived when all the other cells were dismantled? No? Guess it never occurred to you that the only reason your operations still ran was because of me.”

“Bullshit,” MJ weakly argued, but Peter’s intestines began to knot.

Tony arched a wry eyebrow at her. “Is it? Your secret source—other than that one slip-up from Robertson—is Garrison Quint, right?” he posed the question to MJ. And when MJ’s face dropped, he smirked. “Yeah… he was never on your side. He fed you whatever I wanted you to know. Give your little resistance something to keep your spirits up. Keep your group motivated.”

MJ blinked. Hard. She shook her head in disbelief, the curls falling in her face. “Why?”

Peter was curious to know the reason as well. Why did Tony humor them? Why did he feed them information? String them along? It was all rather pointless for a man like Tony Stark to be entertained by a few college rebels. He already crushed the other rebellions. Why didn’t he do the same to theirs? What had he hoped to get—

And that knot in Peter sharply twisted. “Me.”

He muttered loud enough to draw Tony and MJ to him. “You were using them to find me,” he said. “Y-You… you were hoping that… that my friends would lead you to me and… a-and they did.”

Tony heaved a long sigh. “That’s part of it,” he confessed. “I figured, if you were alive, they would know your whereabouts.”

Peter’s knees wobbled. He felt light-headed. Dizzy. His friends were placed in danger because of him. Again. His cursed luck never faltered in its mission to plague Peter’s loved ones. Danger, destruction and death tagged him. They became his shadow. First his parents, then Uncle Ben, followed by Aunt May, and now his friends. Targets painted on their backs because of their association with him.

His distress must have sparked a fire within MJ. Her face tightened. Eyes narrowed. Mouth terse. Voice cutting when she spoke.

“Fuck you.”

All of Peter’s breath left his lungs. Heart-pounding fear drew his eyes wide on to MJ, wishing she hadn’t said a word. Wishing she didn’t antagonize Iron Man. Peter felt submerged, like sinking underwater, as he waited for Tony’s reaction, slowly drowning in the agonizing anticipation of what course the Invincible Iron Man would take.

Despite her acidulous tone, Tony laughed. “There’s the spitfire,” he quipped with an lopsided grin. “Worried for a second that I struck you speechless. People tend to have that effect when meeting me. Mostly younger people. Older ones too. It’s not discriminative.”

MJ was repulsed. “I don’t worship power mongrels, mass murderers, dictators, kidnappers,” she listed accusingly, her gaze stern, “or people who play god!”

Tony’s charmed smile faltered. “I don’t play god.”

“So, you admit to the others.”

“I don’t admit anything.”

“You don’t have too!” MJ shouted before jabbing a pointed finger at Peter. “Peter’s wound says enough!”

Tony’s face dropped. He flickered a glance back to Peter’s petrified stance. A burdened regret weighed the man down at seeing Peter’s ashy features. “I didn’t give the order to shoot.”

Peter surprisingly believed him. He recalled the rooftop. Tony stood in front of him, filled with happy relief and hope. There was no inclination of wanting to hurt him.

MJ wasn’t convinced, shooting him a doubtful look. “He still got shot. By  _your_ soldiers.”

“It was an accident.”

“Bumping into someone is an accident. Shooting a person isn’t!”

“I patched him up!”

“Oh, you’re right, I’m sorry,” MJ’s tone was bitter and sarcastic. “Should I be swooning or praising ‘Hallelujah! Thank god for Iron Man!’?”

Tony scrutinized MJ, sizing her up. It dawned on Tony that MJ was not a pushover. He couldn’t flash a charming smile and make her melt. Threats didn’t rattle her either. MJ stood her ground, never backing down from her morals or beliefs. She braved anyone and anything. Even Iron Man.

Tony’s eyebrows knitted, perplexed but seemingly impressed. “You remind me of Pepper,” he said finally. “The two of you would get along. She’s also hard to impress or intimidate.

“To be fair, I didn’t travel to the sewers to  _swoon_ you,” Tony paused, and then added, “or to shoot you either.”

Peter and MJ shared a nervous glance. They both knew why Tony came down into the tunnels. And they both knew Tony wasn’t going to leave without Peter. The uneasy between them revolved around how Tony planned to execute his plan.

Peter took a tentative steps, sliding his feet across the uneven stone-floor to put himself slightly between Tony and MJ. However, MJ closed the gap, coming right up beside Peter.

“You’re not taking him,” MJ declared, giving him a piercing glare to match the ferocity of her tone.

Tony looked at her mild annoyance. “You have too much fire in you, kid,” he retorted. “Loosen up. I haven’t attacked once. I come in peace.” He briefly raised the peace sign. “But, I’m beginning to think we should move this conversation elsewhere if we’re going to continue this ridiculous bickering. It’s getting chilly down here and I’m certain we are all contaminated with sepsis by now. I have a car—”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” MJ scowled, finding the mere suggestion outlandish. “And if you try anything, I still have the hydrogen peroxide in my bag.”

Tony rolled his eyes in a scolding manner. “Fine. Let’s hash it out here,” he said, moving to sit comfortably on the couch’s armrest. Arms crossed in front of his chest, Tony shifted his stern gaze to Peter. “What are you doing with your life, kid? Is this what you want to be doing? Squatting in the sewers? Living like a mole man?”

Peter kept silent. Didn’t respond to Tony’s line of questioning because Peter knew his responses wouldn’t please Tony. Peter knew Spider-Man was done. Over. He only caused problems rather than fix them. It was best for Spider-Man to remain dead and forgotten.

“You weren’t meant to waste your life down here!” Tony stressed, ignoring MJ’s scowls at him. “You told me that you wanted to help people. It’s why you put on that ridiculous onesie. Swinging around the city, saving people.”

Save them from what? Peter wanted to ask. All was quiet in the world. No Big Bads. No super villains. Except Tony Stark, but the world wouldn’t agree with him. Tony Stark’s a hero. The greatest hero in the universe.

Tony started forward. Peter flinched, but hung tough. Backing away was not an option. Not when MJ was in the line of fire. He felt MJ grab his hand, clutched.

Another period of silence followed before Tony spoke again. “You have the power—”

MJ cut him off “Stop making him—”

“Adult is talking, so zip it!” Tony snapped at her and MJ growled at his rebuke.

Tony restarted, rounding back onto Peter once more.

“Peter—you have so much potential. You have the power to save lives. Change the world!” he implored, his face set and unhappy like nothing went to plan. At least, his plan. “I can’t watch you squander it. I can’t… you’re too important to waste your life away like this.”

What did Tony mean by that? Panic returned. There was a tightness in his chest. A burst of questions exploded his mind, making his thoughts race with uncertainty and dread. He blinked slowly. Everything felt heavy. Even struggled to breathe because his mouth refused to open.

In that last confession, Tony declared that he had no intentions of leaving Peter down in the tunnels. Peter was tempted to scream and lash out, but that wouldn’t end well. Arguing was futile too. Refusal too. Nothing Peter said or did would get him out of this predicament. It was inevitable. Doomed the second Peter saw Tony on the rooftop, and again when Tony found his refuge.

Peter worked his jaw, thinking. Tony’s influence reached far and wide, and with the gauntlet in his possession, Tony could make anything happen. Erase Peter’s memories of his friends and family? Or snap Ned and MJ into ash if Peter refused to go with him? That last thought made Peter freeze up. Already, he thought he saw fragments of ash coming of MJ.

But, if Peter willingly went with Tony, there was a possibility to take control. Have a hand on the steering wheel. Have a voice in the negotiations rather than be taken against his will without any chance to speak. The best way to have a say in his life was to accept the inevitable.

He peeked over to MJ, seeing the fire in her spirited eyes. She stood at the brink, facing the devil, unafraid, to fight his battle. She was ready to fight everything.

But Peter wasn’t. He never wanted his friends caught up in his affairs, be roped into the dangers his old life brought. Spider-man was separate from Peter Parker. That was what he wanted to keep his loved ones safe. Not anymore. Not with Tony Stark knowing both identities. He lost Aunt May. He couldn’t lose his friends next.

Peter made his choice. This was always his path.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony looked taken aback, if only for a second, like he expected Peter to keep up with the silent treatment. But, he was nonetheless pleased Peter spoke up. “Yeah, kid?”

This was it. His final choice.

“I’ll go with you.”

His single statement changed the entire atmosphere. Both Tony and MJ were surprised, but in different ways. Tony was caught off-guard, but brightened. MJ appeared stunned, brutally slapped in the face by betrayal. And that hurt Peter the most.

“What?” MJ cried, but Peter kept his focus on Tony. He needed to make sure Tony heard the next part.

“But, you can’t go after my friends,” Peter insisted. “You can’t… you can’t hurt them. Threaten them. Or… or nothing to them. You leave them alone!”

“Sure. Of course,” Tony nodded. “You have my word.”

“Peter—” MJ hissed, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

Peter looked at her wide, confused eyes. “Keeping you and everyone safe,” he said, pulling his wrist out of her grip. He took one long stride toward Tony, jaw firm and eyes determined. “You mean it? If I… _rejoin_ … you’ll leave my friends alone. You won’t go after them or hurt them or—”

“I swear I will not hurt any of your friends,” Tony avowed, gesturing with his hand in a form of a promise. “MJ, Ned and the others are all free to live out their lives to the fullest without harassment or trouble from my end. Of course, that means they can’t form another resistance group, but I promise they won’t be targeted. They’ll be safe. No harm, no foul.”

Peter inspected Tony’s face. Searching for any signs of lies or insincerity. He found nothing and even his spidey-sense didn’t tingle in warning.

“Okay,” Peter relented, voice softening to a whisper. “Okay.”

And Tony beamed. “Okay,” he repeated, and then nudging toward the doorway. “Let’s get outta here. I think I need to shower at least three times to wash the stench off.”

He gestured for Peter and MJ to depart first, not even asking if there was anything Peter wanted to bring. Not that Peter had anything in the tunnels he wanted. Maybe a few of the objects left behind by the dusted Avengers, but Tony wouldn’t let him.

Peter rotated to leave, walking past MJ. She reached for his hand again.

“Peter—”

He turned away from MJ, pulling his hand out of reach. He bowed his head, averting his gaze to avoid MJ’s piercing, hurt stare. He didn’t cry or sniveled as he marched out with accepted defeat. No use in prolonging the inevitable. It was over.

Tony won. They lost. But, at least Peter claimed a small victory in securing his friends freedoms and safety.

As long as MJ and Ned were safe, Peter could live being a prisoner for life.

* * *

They climbed out of the tunnels. Peter led the way out, with MJ following behind him and Tony tagging close behind her. Peter shivered a little in the cold air. His bare arms exposed to the night’s cooler temperatures. His little tremble caught Tony’s attention as the man immediately stripped his jacket off and threw it over him. While Peter despised it, he clutched onto the jacket and snugged it around his shoulders.

Peter scanned their surroundings. Though Tony insisted he came alone, Peter knew better to trust his word. He let his senses comb through every square foot around him, expecting to hear the steady heartbeats of snipers and the breaths of agents on standby. But, he didn’t.

Tony cleared his throat. “You probably should say goodbye to your friend here.”

He gestured to MJ, who frowned severely before her eyes widened more at Peter. He saw the guilt swimming in those unshed tears of hers. Peter wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. It wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault.

“Hey,” Peter said, lowering his voice so Tony couldn’t hear. The man got the message though. He took a few steps away to act like he was giving them privacy. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Peter didn’t counter it, but he attempted a smile. A hopeful smile. For her. “I’ll survive. It’s you I’m more worried about,” he confessed. He couldn’t let anything happen to her or Ned. “Stay safe. Don’t… don’t try to pick a fight with them.”

MJ lips pressed dangerously thin. “Not in my nature to surrender,” she said and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s going to backstab you. You know that right?”

Peter considered betrayal from Tony. After all, it was not the first time Tony stabbed him in the back. “I did return the knife to him last time,” he muttered, which baffled MJ. “If he breaks his word, so will I. I won’t let him hurt you or Ned.”

“I don’t matter, Peter!” MJ cried, cheeks flushed. “This isn’t about me or Ned. It’s about freedom! You shouldn’t… this isn’t right! You shouldn’t do this.”

MJ was right. He shouldn’t, but that’s not how Tony’s world worked. His rules. His way. No one else got to dictate it. Peter was lucky to negotiate terms on his friends’ behalf.

MJ suddenly grabbed his hand. “Let’s run! Right now!” she pleaded, urging him to move. “We can do it. He’s not wearing his suit!”

Peter gravely shook his head, using his power to stick firmly to the ground. “No, no, no, MJ,” he begged. “Please—I can’t. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please…”

He wrangled his hand out of hers. The minute she lost it, a tear splashed across her cheekbone. It was over for them. The Resistance was done. Peter would return to the Tower, cut off from his life and friends again. It hurt, but it was for the best.

There was nothing else. Nothing MJ could do or say to change the situation. Even Peter didn’t have any rights. Not with Tony standing a few feet away from them, pretending to not be eavesdropping on their conversation. They both recognized there was nothing either of them could do. It was all over.

Time was up.

Peter shuddered a breath. “I-I have to go,” he said, sounding small. Broken. “Please, MJ, for me, be careful. And tell Ned… tell him happy birthday for me. And that I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

MJ said nothing. Only bobbled her head in a pathetic nod, brows furrowed and eyes furious as Peter stepped away. Peter shot her his best attempt at a hopeful smile before he turned and walked back toward Tony.

Tony waited for him, his hand reaching out and giving a sympathetic pat on Peter’s back. “I know that wasn’t easy for you, kid, but you’ll see her again. You’re not going off to war or anything. Give it a week, and the two of you will be back holding hands again.”

He meant it as a joke, but Peter wasn’t laughing. Peter knew it was over, even if Tony liked to pretend that nothing changed. Everything changed.

Tony’s hand stayed on Peter’s shoulder, guiding him to the one thing strikingly out of the place for a deserted area.

It was a sleek, black town car. Windows cleaned and the rims sparkled in the residue moonlight. The car was well pampered, much like the man steering him to the vehicle.  

And, naturally, standing by the pristine car was Happy Hogan.

The man looked the same as ever. He had a lantern jaw, his mouth always set in a permanent frown as his eyes scrutinized the people coming toward him. Robust and imposing, he was the perfect man for security. That, and being a former boxer. After all his years with Tony Stark, little surprised him. He expected the outrageous and exasperations that only Tony Stark pulled. But when his eyes met Peter, there was a bewilderment shock. Peter almost saw his brain malfunction. Tony did too.

He snapped his fingers. “Car, Happy,” Tony reminded his friend. “Kid needs to see Dr. Cho pronto.”

Happy nodded, hurrying to the driver’s seat. Tony opened the door in the back, politely letting Peter enter first.

Peter stopped for a moment, looking back around again. “So… there really was no one else?”

“Just me and Hap, kid,” Tony reassured, gently pushing Peter into the car. “You really thought I had an entire army here waiting?”

He did. After all, he was chased and ambushed by Shadow Company a mere hour ago. Plus the whole catastrophe on the rooftop earlier in the night. It was not far-fetched for Tony to have agents ready to strike him down.

Tony slid into the seat next to Peter, closing the door and locking it. Peter squirmed to get himself further away from Tony. Sitting in the backseat of the town car brought back a familiar, dreadful memory. Peter twisted around in his seat, looking out in the rearview window. He spotted MJ, standing in the exact spot he left her. Almost like she was glued down, unable to give chase.

Like Aunt May was when Peter left her in the alleyway.

Peter’s senses picked up MJ’s rapid heartbeat. He could hear it through her heaving breaths, choking on a withheld sob. MJ was strong and it hurt to hear the cracks in her fortitude.

A profound ache craved into Peter’s heart. Every ragged breath MJ took squeezed his own lungs into a pained whimper. It forced him to relive the night his aunt cried and called out to him, pleading with him to not leave her. The helpless and hopeless feelings swallowing him up again.

Peter scrunched himself into the seat, eyes closing to will his mind numb. It didn’t work. He was barraged with guilt of hearing his aunt’s cries overlapping MJ’s painful, shuddered breaths of loss.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Happy—drive,” he begged the former chauffeur. “ _Drive_!”

“Okay, okay,” Happy grunted. He revved the engine alive and turned the gears to move the car out of its parking spot. “We’re going.”

Peter saw Tony giving him a quizzical look, but Peter didn’t care. He turned away from the man and rested his head against the cool window. He could still hear MJ, but it was getting softer and softer as Happy drove. When the car pulled into steady traffic, MJ’s heartbeat ceased.

But Peter’s heart did not. It continued to beat in shattered pieces. Every breath a jagged knife and every heartbeat a throb. Pain was an old friend. As was suffering, and he suffered quite a bit in his short life.

Peter supposed not everyone has a happy ending.

* * *

Happy turned the car onto the Brooklyn Bridge, crossing over the river. Not a word was spoken since they started driving. Tony was busy with his phone, still tapping way on it. Probably about him. Letting everyone in the Tower know he captured Peter. To be ready for their arrival.

Half-way across the bridge, Peter looked out the window. Manhattan. Its towering skyscrapers stretched overhead. Lights of skyscrapers, restaurants, bars and places of vice glittered against the dark. In the center was Stark Tower. It illuminated the skyline, and the sky itself, with its self-sustaining clean energy.

He squirmed as the car inched closer to the Tower. He felt like a moth, inching closer to the beaconing light, knowing it would zap the life out of him. A prickle of pain skirted across of his forehead as he wrangled his hands together in his lap.

Happy pulled the car into the underground garage. Peter picked his pants, lint burying under his fingernails. His spider-sense was on high alert, demanding attention at everything surrounding him. Peter swallowed another lump down his throat. Once he walked through those doors, he would never come out. Not without chains in some shape or form.

The car parked. Tony gestured for Peter to get out. With shaking hands, he opened the door and climbed out, standing right next to Happy as the chauffeur pulled himself up. Tony walked around the car, ushering Peter to the private elevator.

Peter quizzically frowned. “Aren’t we going through the front door?” he asked. “You know… parade me in front of everyone?”

“Do you want a parade?” Tony questioned as the elevator doors opened.

Peter shook his head.

“Then, no parade,” Tony answered, stepping into the elevator. He took center while Happy led Peter to the side. “Cho is waiting for us in the infirmary. She’s going to get that bullet out, stitch you back up and do a quick check-up. Make sure you’re as healthy as you can be.”

The elevators pinged and Peter was greeted to an empty corridor. The lights in the hallway were on, dimmed to a low setting, giving an eerie atmosphere that made Peter want to backtrack into the elevator again. Probably why Tony clamped a hand on his shoulder, pressuring him to move forward to the door at the end of the hallway. The lights were on in that room, acting like a burning star compared to the dimmed hallway lights they passed.

Tony knocked on the door while pushing it open. “Cho?”

The door opened wider, revealing a tired, but content doctor. Peter remembered her from the Compound. Very studious and scientific, not at all emotionally engaging like the other medical helper Peter had. The girl with the bubbly personality. Kelly? Lily? Nellie? Peter couldn’t remember her name.

But, Dr. Helen Cho smiled kindly at Peter. “It’s been a long time, Mr. Parker,” she said. “Why don’t you change into these and then we’ll get started.”

She handed him a patient gown, pointing to a divider in the corner. Peter changed while the adults discussed. When Peter came out, he was directed to the cushioned operating chair. He took his seat while Dr. Cho brought up a hologram of his old medical files. The ones taken at the Compound three years ago.

Dr. Cho reviewed his charts before diving into the procedure process. Tony asked a thousand questions, to which Dr. Cho luckily had the patience to deal with them. Peter said nothing. After Tony approved it, the doctor got to work. She unbuttoned the front of Peter’s gown, and removed the patch Tony put over the wound. She checked it.

“You’re body’s healing capability will never cease to amaze me,” she muttered, spinning in her stool get to the cabinets.

She pulled out a mask, tying it around her head, and laid an assessment of medical tools on the tray next to him. “I could knock you out for this, but I am thinking maybe a simple numbing solution would do the trick. That way, you won’t be unconscious for the next few hours.”

She inserted a needle by his wound. Peter flinched and a hand pressed down onto his good shoulder to keep him still. Peter flickered up, looking right at Tony as Dr. Cho removed the syringe.

“You’re good,” Tony reassured him. “Try not to move a lot. Don’t want Cho to accidently nick anything.”

Peter didn’t move and Dr. Cho busied herself in removing the bullet. It took a few minutes, but she got the bullet out.

“Nasty thing,” Dr. Cho muttered as she started to clean the wound and stitch it together. “It’s going to be sore when the numbing wears off. Your body started to heal around the bullet, so I had to cut a little to get it out. Nothing to be scared of. You’ll heal up just fine in a few days.”

Dr. Cho stitched the wound and rebandaged it properly. The good doctor guided him into a sitting position, wrapping a pressure cuff on his arm. He felt the wrap squeeze his bicep as Dr. Cho requested he hold still for a minute. She held up a device and a red light emitted from it, scanning his face. Peter leaned away, but the device got what it wanted. A hologram popped up and Dr. Cho reviewed it while undoing the pressure cuff.

“Can you stand up for a second?” Dr. Cho requested. “Need you to stand on this pad here.”

Tony went to help Peter off the chair, but he helped himself off. He didn’t want Tony’s assistance. He hurried over to where Dr. Cho waited on him, stepping up on the pad. He held the gown close, ensuring no one could see his boxers as the machine measured his weight. The numbers popped up. While it was not surprising, Peter winced at seeing the numbers: hundred and twenty-five. Underweight.

Dr. Cho let out a disapproval tsk. “Severely underweight,” she grumbled at the results, “and with your metabolism, I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed.”

Tony instantly appeared at his side. “What about his weight?”

Dr. Cho turned off the machine and helped Peter back to the cushioned seat. “I can recommend a few nutritionists. They can outline his meal plans to get him to a more acceptable weight.”

“What about now?” Tony asked, shooting a nervous look at Peter. Did he expect Peter to faint over this second? “Can he eat something now?”

Happy leaned over to Tony’s ear. “Tony—”

“Didn’t you hear?” Tony snapped at Happy. “He’s severely underweight! He needs food. He needs to eat!”

Dr. Cho focused on Peter, ignoring Tony’s hoovering and Happy’s grunting. “You can get dress,” she told Peter. “I’m sure you don’t want to walk out in a gown.”

Peter was back behind the divider, shedding his gown. He pulled his pants back on and threw his shirt on while the adults on the others side discussed. He didn’t care to eavesdrop. His mind was loud enough to occupy his thoughts.

When he stepped out behind the divider, fully clothed, the adults ceased their discussion. Tony offered an encouraging smile, but Peter didn’t trust it. He looked to Dr. Cho, but she was busy collecting her tablet to notice his discomfort. Happy did, because he asked, “You good, kid?”

Peter nodded, but it was a lie. The adults knew too, but they chose to take it as truth.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Tony suggested, putting his hand on Peter’s back to escort him to the door.

The four of them left the room, walking towards the elevators at the other end of the corridor. Tony continued talking, “I think I can get my chef to come in early,” he said. “Cook up a steak for you. Hey—maybe I can get the chef from downstairs? Make that famous ‘world’s greatest steak’? Does that sound good?”

Tony beamed at him, like he shared an inside joke with him. Peter didn’t get it.

Happy quickened his pace. “Boss—we should probably let him sleep.”

“He will, Happy,” Tony assured, not liking being contradicted, “but not on an empty stomach.”

“A steak might be too heavy. Something smaller. Like fruit,” Dr. Cho advised. “Just for tonight.”

“Fine. Fruit then. I think there are a few choices,” Tony huffed, but gave a tight smile in Peter’s direction. “You can pick when we get there.”

Peter wondered where they were going next as he was shuffled into the elevator. Tony and the doctor kept talking, while Happy remained silent. The bodyguard glanced down at him a few times, but never said a word. Peter was fine not talking. He didn’t have much to say to anyone.

They left the infirmary and Dr. Cho promised to return for a thorough check-up tomorrow. She got off the elevator on her floor, saying good-night, before the three of them continued upward. Peter checked the numbers above the door, watching the light flashing as the levels were ticked off. They kept going up, straight to the dark clouds.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. An Irish, female voice boomed overhead.

"Welcome Home, Peter Parker."

FRIDAY, Tony's AI. Peter remembered her as he stepped out of the elevator. "Hi, FRIDAY," he replied, hearing Tony lightly chuckle behind him.

Peter checked around him. The penthouse looked exactly as Peter remembered. Tony led him to the kitchen where he ate the apple Tony insisted he had before bed. It tasted like ash in his belly.

Peter was next shuffled into a bedroom and directed to the adjoined bathroom. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste there for him. He brushed his teeth and went straight to the bed, not bothering to change. Covers were draped over him. Someone spoke to him. Probably Tony, but Peter didn’t bother to listen. He nodded, hoping to appease the man and send him away.

It worked. The bedroom door closed. Lights out. Peter enclosed in the dark. Or it would be if his windows weren’t next to the moon. The moonlight cased the room in a silver hue, making everything polish and shine. Expensive. Which it probably was.

He rolled onto his other side. The queen-sized bed was massive. Peter slept on a lumpy couch for three years, scrunched in the fetal position to fit and not fall off. In this bed, he could stretch his limbs in different directions and remain on the bed. Impossible to fall off.

Peter looked pass the mattress landscape toward the windows. It took up the entire wall, displaying the restless world and black sky. Peter saw Central Park, Yankee Stadium, and in the far right, the borough of Queens. Home.

What used to be home, anyway.

Peter’s fingers curled tight on the blanket, the fabric bunching in his fists. The sight of his old hometown drowned him in deep reminiscences. Moments of Aunt May singing along to the radio as she cooked. Moments of Uncle Ben constructing furniture, teaching Peter the different tools as he built. Moments of the three of them watching movies, ordering pizza and eating popcorn. Or going to the park to shoot off Peter’s homemade rocket. Or taking Peter and Ned to science museums. Or—

Chest constricted. Breaths shallow and quick. Heart fluttered, beating erratically and fast, as a mirage of Aunt May’s kind smile mocked him.

Peter flipped over. He zoned in on the wall, focusing on the patterned design. Aunt May was gone. He knew that. His spidey-sense prickled in remembrance of his aunt crumbling in his arms. Ashes shedding off her body and floating in the air like the dust in the moonlight…

He curled into a fetal position, eyes clenched tight. He willed the memory to go away. He can’t deal with it. He can’t relive it. Not now. Not under Stark’s roof.

FRIDAY chirped on. “ _Peter, you seem to be undergoing—"_

“Shut up!” Peter snapped, shoving his head underneath the pillow. “I’m fine.”

And he always was. He had to be.

He must be greater than his suffering to survive.

* * *

Peter abruptly woke up.

It wasn’t natural or gentle. It yanked him right out of obscurity into a blinding light. Peter blinked once before he shot his hand out, slapping away whatever grabbed him. It released him, but Peter kept slapping, scooching away until his back hit something hard.

He panted. Muscles tense. Eyes scanned around him, adjusting to the sudden light pouring into the room. Peter looked around him, confused and disoriented. He blinked again, expecting the tunnels to reappear. They didn’t.

He was in a bedroom. On a bed. Clinging to the headboard.

Beside the bed was Happy Hogan. His hands raised, staring at him with concern and guilt. “Kid? You okay?”

Peter stared around the bedroom again. The floor-to-ceiling windows, crystal clear, let the sunlight drench the room in a warm morning glow. He saw a massive desk in the corner, where two monitors lined next to each other, and a laptop, closed, sat off to the side. A row of three bookcases hid behind Happy, and Peter was able to read a few titles on the spines of different colored books. Most books were science, but he caught the _Harry Potter_ collection on the top shelf. An authentic-looking lightsaber was mounted on the wall opposite of Peter. The color looked blue. Like the Skywalker lightsaber.

Studying the room, Peter remembered with sudden clarity that his days in the tunnels were done. Gone. He now belonged to the Tower. Or the Compound. Or wherever Tony planned to imprison him for the rest of his life.

A hand waved in front of his face. Peter jumped a little and darted back up the headboard. He blinked up to Happy.

The former boxer tilted his head down. “You okay, Pete? You look kind of pale.”

“I always look pale,” Peter replied. His time underground meant he hardly saw the sun. Rare to even feel its warmth. “Um… what’s going on? What’s happening?”

“Your nutritionist is here,” Happy explained. “Came to get you, but saw you hadn’t woke up… did you get enough sleep? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Peter rubbed his eyes. “Mr. Stark got someone here? Isn’t it early?”

“It’s past eleven.”

Oh. Odd to wake up to light. Used to waking up in the dark, never knowing the time. The last time he woke up to an actual morning was long ago.

Peter kicked off the last of the blanket from his legs. “Sorry,” he apologized, not knowing how angry Mr. Stark was. “Err… I’m ready. I’ll go—”

Happy waved Peter’s mumblings aside. “It’s fine. You got time to shower and clean up,” he said, which took Peter by surprise. “What? You think I came in here to drag you out in your pajamas and bedhead? No—you can take a shower and get dress.”

Peter got up from the bed and Happy directed him back to the bathroom. Peter didn’t remember it too much from last night. He saw the toothbrush he left on the countertop, but he never saw the fancy glass-encased shower or jacuzzi tub. Peter’s eyes bulged. He hadn’t seen such luxuries in… well, never. The last time he took a decent shower was three weeks ago, when Ned helped sneak him into the dormitory’s showers.

Happy opened one of the cupboards beside the door. There were stacks of towels in two neat columns, an array of hygiene products like shampoo, body wash, and razor supplies, and a fluffy robe hung from a hook on the door.

Happy grabbed a bottle of shampoo, body wash and a towel, and passed them to Peter. “Here. Go take your shower,” he said. “Make it quick though. She has another appointment somewhere else in the city.”

“Who?” Peter asked, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of the towel.

“The nutritionist.”

“Oh, right,” Peter forgot. “I’ll take that shower now.”

Happy walked out, closing the door behind him. Peter locked it. Secluded in the bathroom, Peter took a shower. He enjoyed the hot water, lingering underneath the high pressured shower. It felt good against his back, massaging his muscles into a more relaxed state. He scrubbed his arms, legs, chest and back well with the body wash given to him. He did it twice, to make sure he removed the last smell of sewer water and mold. He did the same to his hair. Shampooed it twice. Both shampoo and soap smelled fresh and rich. Like some kind of organic herbs.

Drying himself off with the towel, Peter pulled the robe around him. He took the clothes and towel, shoving them into the corner of the bathroom, designating it as the dirty clothes pile. Peter unlocked the door and stepped out. Happy wasn’t in the bedroom. That brought some relief to Peter. Privacy.

Peter looked around the room again and spotted a door he assumed was the closet. He opened it and his assumption was correct. There were lots of clothes available to him. Graphic tees. Dress shirts. Sweaters. Jeans. Pants. Sweats. Cargo shorts even. Guess he wasn’t going to be stuck sporting Stark Industries clothing like he did when he first lived in the Compound. Or maybe he would be once Tony ships him back.

Peter scrounged through the racks and drawers, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants and a simple T-shirt. He picked the cheapest. Though, he doubted it cost the same amount as the clothes he was used to wearing.

Peter tied on sneakers when a knock from his door reminded him he was being waited on. Happy opened the door right as Peter rose up from his bed, done with the shoes and ready to go.

“Good. You’re dressed,” Happy said. “C’mon. They’re waiting in the kitchen.”

Peter walked over to the door, but Happy didn’t move. He blocked the exit. Peter’s brows scrunched as he slowed his pace, looking up at Happy in expectance of the man to move. Happy didn’t. The man swallowed, rubbing right above his eyebrows. His Adam’s apple bobbed too, swallowing something difficult by how much it protruded from the man’s thick neck.

“Hey, before you go,” Happy started, forcing Peter to fully stop. “Um… I wanted to let you know that I, erm, I didn’t do it.”

Peter cocked his own eyebrow at the man. “Didn’t do what?”

“You know,” Happy said, looking more anxious “I didn’t… I didn’t find your aunt.”

Oh. That’s right. Peter recalled how he begged Happy to not go after his aunt when he was being dragged away. He remembered Happy’s lie of his aunt being safe. Of letting nothing happen to her.

Peter’s jaw was set at the painful memory. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “Nat found her first.”

Happy’s eyes widened for a second before he shook his head violently. “No, I mean… I didn’t go looking for her,” he clarified. “After you were knocked out, I-I drove to Queens, but I didn’t do anything. I parked and sat in the car. I didn’t go looking for her.”

Peter did not expect that confession. Happy was always loyal to Tony. Never deterred from the man’s wishes. Peter recalled Happy’s troubled look when Tony sentenced Peter to the Hole. But, Happy said nothing. Did nothing. He only watched Peter struggle and cry for help. Peter figured Happy sided with Tony, even if didn’t agree.

“Oh,” Peter uttered, not knowing what to say. “Okay, I—”

“Yeah, no, don’t,” Happy stopped Peter. “I only wanted you to know. Now, you know.” He took a deep breath, shoulders loosening like a hundred pound weight was lifted off of him. “Let’s go. I bet your hungry.”

Peter had a hard time telling if he was hungry or not. Most of the time, his stomach was in pain. Either from hunger or from guilt.

He followed Happy to the kitchen, where he already heard Tony and a lady speaking. They were discussing food choices. Options and plans. When Peter stepped into the kitchen, he saw the nutritionist with an open binder and Tony leaning against the counter, chin drawn down as he listened to woman talk. Tony stopped when he spotted them.

“Peter!” Tony smiled, beckoning Peter to come over. “I want you to meet someone.”

Peter shambled over, his knees stiff as he approached. Tony held a hand out, waiting until Peter was in reach to pull him toward the adults. Peter tugged on the hem of his shirt as the nutritionist studied him. Her kind eyes reviewed his appearance, taking in his scraggly shape and hollow cheeks.

She smiled as she stood to introduce herself as Jennifer Schroder. A nutritionist for over a decade, working alongside celebrities and athletes to get into better shape and healthier eating habits. Peter cared less about her background, but he stayed polite when she asked of any allergies or food preferences to help her design meals plan for him. Surprisingly, Tony kept quiet and allowed Peter to speak and make decisions regarding his food. Unlike last night with Dr. Cho.

Ms. Schroder crafted a weekly plan and promised to send it to the personal chef. She agreed to weekly check-ins on Friday mornings to see how he was progressing and to make adjustments if needed. The chef already made an enriched-vitamin, high-calorie smoothie based on Ms. Schroder’s suggestion, and Peter was pressured to sit at the table and drink it.

Tony thanked Ms. Schroder and had Happy escort her out of the penthouse, leaving him and Peter alone at the kitchen table.

“You drink all that,” Tony gestured to the glass as he pulled out a chair to sit in. “I know what happens to your body when you starve. So, please drink while we go over some things.”

Peter settled and pulled the glass toward him. It was green, like chopped and pressed grass-colored green. Peter’s nose wrinkled at the drink, but with Tony watching, he took a small gulp. His mouth squeezed as the cold rolled over his teeth. Flaxseeds grated along his tongue as he tasted kale and banana. Not his choice of a smoothie, but it was all he was allowed to have.

Tony situated himself at the table. “We have a lot scheduled for today. Easy things. Nothing strenuous,” he started. “After you finish that, we’re meeting Dr. Cho for a follow-up. Do a more thorough check-up. Basic physical.”

Peter figured. He took another sip. The flaxseeds graining in his mouth. Like ash.

He coughed, doing his best to scrape the flaxseeds off his tongue with his teeth. Tony didn’t noticed. He continued on with the schedule.

“Then I made an appointment with my barber. Get rid of that street urchin hairstyle,” Tony said, gesturing to Peter’s damp hair. It was longer than normal and despite it being washed, it still had matts and knots. “At around four, I scheduled a proctored exam for you.”

“A what?”

“You’re taking the TASC.”

“I-I am?” Peter found it unexpected to take a test.

“Of course,” Tony smiled, finding Peter’s surprised expression humorous. “Need to pass high school to get into college.”

“College?”

“MIT,” Tony said, proud. “I already made a few calls. I know the Dean personally and I donate millions to the school. They are accommodating to whatever I want.”

Peter forgot about the drink. Forgot about the upcoming invasive medical check-up, the groomer and the TASC test. Tony planned to ship him off to MIT? Leave New York?

“Wait… hold on,” spluttered Peter. “I—I can’t go to MIT!”

“Sure you can,” Tony reassured, dismissive of Peter’s protest. “Like I said, I’m arranging it. All you have to do is pass the test, but that’ll be easy for you.”

“Mr. Stark, I… I-I haven’t graduated high school.”

“Hence the test,” Tony said. “It’s the equivalent of a high school diploma.”

“Bu-But I… I haven’t gone to school in years! Taken any classes.”

“That’s okay.”

“I haven’t studied—”

“Peter,” Tony interrupted with his dark, serious eyes fixed on Peter to ensure the boy paid attention. “You were smart enough to graduate from high school at fifteen. You’ll pass the test.” The man uttered like it was a decree, set in stone. A fact. “Stop worrying so much. Everything is taken care of.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk more about it later,” Tony cut him off again. “Let’s get through the rest of day’s schedule. And finish that drink. All of it.”

Tony pushed the glass back to Peter, to which Peter frowned. He didn’t want to drink more of the smoothie. The flaxseed tasted like ash and it was thick against his throat when he swallowed. But, Tony waited for him to take another slurp, so Peter grudgingly took another gulp. He wanted to throw up.

It satisfied Tony. The man continued. “After you _pass_ the test, we’ll need to reverse your death certificate.”

“I have a death certificate?”

Peter knew he was “dead”. Tony and SHIELD faked his death when they kidnapped him from Queens. They tricked May into believing her nephew was murdered. She held a funeral and had an engraved headstone with his name and short life marked. It was odd to hear Tony talk about it like it was not a big deal. A minor error. Something easily fixed with a printed form and an inked signature on the dotted line. Like the trauma of it all had no effect on Peter or the ones he loved.

“I have lawyers already working on nulling it,” Tony answered Peter’s question. “Integrate you back into the living world. Join the system. You know… so you can vote, open a bank account, and all those good things. Going to need a passport too. Again, don’t worry about it. Lawyers are drafting the papers. All you have to do is sign.”

Tony took a breath, combing a hand through his hair. The lines along his forehead were deep, like the man slept too little and concentrated too hard. Even his eyes had heavier bags than normal. Probably didn’t sleep at all. Last time Peter was in the Tower for the night, he escaped. And Tony probably didn’t want a repeat.

The man checked him over, his gaze lingering on Peter’s tired face. “Dinner will be sometime afterwards,” he said. “May have some downtime before then, which you could probably take a nap. Looks like you need one. Did you sleep at all?”

“Yes.”

“Not well obviously.”

Peter shrugged. Sleep came and went for him.

Tony turned in his seat, dropping a his chin in his hand. “FRIDAY told me you struggled to sleep last night,” he said. “Tossed and turned. That sort of thing.”

Tattle-tale, Peter bitterly thought. He should have known the AI would rat him out. “Happens when you sleep in a new place.”

“Of course,” Tony agreed with the statement, but didn’t believe it. He sat up, scooting his chair closer to Peter in order to lean in. His voice dropped to a soft, caring tone. “I actually wanted to discuss with you on hiring a therapist. I know, I know… you are against therapy. You didn’t particularly engage with Doctor Sampson at all.”

Peter didn’t engage with the therapist because he knew the point of her visits. They were to brainwash him into accepting his new home. His new lifestyle. Peter refused to let himself be dragged into it, fighting every attempt to be indoctrinated. Instead, he got lured in by Tony and his magical workshop. That was all it took for Peter to blind himself. What a foolish boy he was back then.

Tony’s head tilted. “And by your brooding silence, I’m going to assume it’ll be the same again if I hired another.”

Peter shot him a dirty look.

“Peter, what happened to you,” Tony paused, recalibrating his speech, afraid to say the wrong word. “What you experienced in your short life—it’s traumatic. Even for someone older. There is no shame in talking with someone. Help you overcome these difficult feelings—”

“I’m not going to discuss my feelings with a therapist that reports everything back to you,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

Iron Man let out a rough breath, frowning. “I won’t ask for reports,” he offered in acquiescence. “The sessions will be private.”

“I would rather talk to the monster under my bed.”

“Really?” Tony raised a knowing brow. “Or maybe you would prefer MJ?”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, like Tony sucker-punched him right in the gut. He dropped his gaze to his lap. Mouth pressed down, sealed in silence. Peter refused to rise to Tony’s bait. The man’s attempt to pry into his personal life unhinged him, spiked his anxiety. Tony won’t be involved in the last links to his life. Ned and MJ. All he had left in the world. The ones that kept him tethered from insanity and despair. His friends. His lifelines.

He can’t lose them to Tony’s manipulations.  

“Leave MJ out of this.”

Tony raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy tiger. I wasn’t talking about dragging her in here,” he insisted. “I’m keeping my word, okay? Your girlfriend is safe.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever she is,” Tony shrugged, but a knowing glint twinkled in his eye showed the man was not convinced, “she’s safe. Along with all your other buddies. I had Happy take care of it, so they’re in good hands. Your friends are fine.”

Peter’s shoulders relaxed, the tension fading out, until Tony spoke again.

“Still—I think you should see a therapist,” Tony continued on, not dropping the subject. “It’ll do you a lot of good to see one.”

Peter crossed his arms, never to budge. “I’m not seeing a therapist.”

Tony resigned in surrender, bobbing his head in acceptance. “Fine—I strongly advise against it, but I won’t force you to see a therapist,” he conceded, which Peter had to pinch his nose to stop him from snorting. He forced Peter to all the other things, but stopped at therapy. Why? “Now—do you have any questions?”

Peter had a billion questions. A lot of them rhetorical, but a few popped in his head that outright confused him. They pounded against his forehead, each demanding to be answered first. With so many unknowns, he figured to ask than to stay stranded in the dark.

“What happens after all this?” Peter asked. It was a basic question, but he needed an idea where he was being led to.

“After what?”

Peter gestured around him. “This. All of this. The testing, the check-ups, the, um… the whole death thing,” he said the last words with discomfort. “After all that, then what?”

“Well… I imagine dinner, and then whatever you want to do.”

“You know what I mean,” Peter grated, tired of Tony’s evasions. “When do I go back to the Compound? Do I rejoin my old team? A new team? I—I want to know what happens to me.”

A bulb lit up in Iron Man’s eyes, recognition of what Peter sought. “Oh—no, no, no… okay, you’re not…” he said, waving his hand as if to clear away the foggy misunderstanding between them. “You don’t have to worry about any of that.”

Peter’s eyes squinted at Tony, suspicious. “I don’t?”

“No,” Tony said with a shake of his head. “No—got bigger plans for you than that.”

Peter’s insides went cold. He shrank into his seat, fingers grasping the hems of his shirt in a twisted bunch. His heart fluttered with anxiety again. His brain jammed, staring at Tony with huge eyes. Plans. Dr. Richards once mentioned plans when he extracted Peter from the Hole. He remembered Tony speaking to him about a role to play, about being more than a power play, but Peter didn’t believe him at the time. Thought it was all words to lower his guard, to get him to trust him again.

What plans did Tony design for him?

He didn’t get the chance to ask because Happy returned, announcing Dr. Cho is downstairs waiting for them. Tony snapped his fingers back at Peter’s smoothie. “Chug that,” he ordered, standing up. “We’ll talk more about it tomorrow. There’s another person I want you to meet before we discuss all that.”

“What person?” Peter asked. Who else did Tony want to introduce him to?

“You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

“He?”

“Yes,” and Tony offered nothing else.

Peter stayed seated. Didn’t even reach for the smoothie. He let the quiet reign, falling into the rabbit hole of his mind as he tried to think who Tony wanted him to meet. Perhaps Dr. Richards, but Peter briefly met him. Maybe Tony didn’t know that they made their acquaintance?

When Tony came back around, Peter asked, “Is it Dr. Richards?”

“No.”

“Thor?”

“One day, but _no_. Stop asking. You’ll meet him tomorrow,” Tony replied, but when he saw Peter suck on his lower lip, he sighed. “You’ll like him. More so than me, so that’s promising right?”

Tony flashed Peter a smile, but it didn’t make him relax. Peter guessed again. “Dr. Pym?”

Tony rolled his eyes, choosing not to respond. He plucked Peter’s smoothie away, much to the boy’s relief. Peter didn’t want to drink anymore of that gritty nonsense. Even if it was meant to help him gain weight.

“Looks like we are taking this to go,” Tony rounded the kitchen island to dump the green liquid into a tumbler. He returned to Peter’s side, dragging him out of his seat “Up and at ‘em. Don’t want to get Cho upset by being late. She has needles, remember?”


End file.
